Mute By Choice: The Goblet of Fire
by AvyJC15
Summary: (Book IV of the Mute By Choice Series) There is an upcoming tournament between four of the five major schools of magic, with three participants, only one selected from each school by the Goblet of Fire. But what happens when another ancient tournament is brought into the equation, as well? Or when a man keeps appearing in Delilah's dreams? ... or when a woman falls from the sky?
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

_Magic..._

Magic is like fire; the only way for it to cause no harm is if you learn how to use it properly. One can say that magic is defined by the reason for the act, not the act itself. And, in a way... it is. But either way...

It's dangerous.

Magic is dangerous, because... no matter how you use it or what you use it for, it always comes with a price. You never know what the price is, but when you do... the idea bewilders you...

Because sometimes— most of the time... the price is death...

That is why one must always sacrifice them self. Though it is not sacrifice if you love what you are doing.

If you choose to do something, then you should not call it a sacrifice, because it was nothing but a willing gesture towards someone... you love...


	2. Preface

**Preface**

_"Delilah..."_

_Her eyes fluttered open, slightly startled by the familiar yet unfamiliar voice. She glanced around, eyes widening in surprise when she found herself sitting in the middle of a beautiful meadow._

_"Delilah..." the voice called out again._

_This made her stand up, though she frowned as she did when she found herself struggling a bit to do so. She looked down and found herself stuffed into a beautiful black gown._

_Shuddering slightly, she looked up and glanced around, seeking to find out where the voice was coming from. She asked who was there as she kept shifting her gaze around, her eyes instinctively shifting toward what seemed to be the deeper part of the forest._

_"Lilah, it's me. I'm right here," the voice whispered right in her ear, making her heart thump hard against her chest._

_When she turned, no one was there until she turned back around. She found herself staring into a pair of beautiful bright green eyes. They were gazing right back into hers with love, adoration, and relief. There was something else she could read in them, but she couldn't tell what it was._

_"You're here," she said, her voice laced with relief._

_"Of course, my love. I will always be here for you," he answered. He then grabbed her hands and held them up to his chest as he pulled her closer, then leaned down and placed his soft lips against hers in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. However, it didn't last long as he pulled away rather quickly._

_She frowned, slightly, gazing up at him with worry evident in her eyes and voice as she asked him what was wrong. He told her it was almost time, but she did not understand what he meant by that._

_Her frown deepened with her confusion. "Time for what? What's wrong?" she pressed._

_"For..."_


	3. Strange Dreams

**Strange Dreams**

_She found herself staring into a pair of beautiful bright green eyes. They were staring right back into hers with love, adoration and relief. There was something else she could read in them, but she couldn't tell what it was._

_"You're here," she said, her voice laced with relief._

_"Of course, my love. I will always be here for you," he answered. He then grabbed her hands and held them up to his chest as he pulled her closer, then leaned down and placed his soft lips against hers in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. However, it didn't last long as he pulled away rather quickly._

_She frowned, slightly, gazing up at him with worry evident in her eyes and voice as she asked him what was wrong. He told her it was almost time, but she did not understand what he meant by that._

_Her frown deepened with her confusion. "Time for what? What's wrong?" she pressed._

_"_ _For—_ _"_

**_Oh, baby, give me one more chance to show you that I love you! Won't you please let me back in your heart? Oh, darlin', I was blind to let you go, but now since I see you in his arms: I want you back! Yes, I do—_**

_SMASH!_

"No, I don't," Delilah mumbled into her pillow after lazily smashing the musically enchanted alarm clock.

"I hope you didn't smash your alarm clock again!"

Delilah groaned. "If I did?"

The door of her room opened, revealing Clarisse Darrell, or rather Lara as she preferred to be called, standing there with her hands on her hips, brows raised.

"Delilah, this is the twelfth one you've broken in over a week, and it's been three weeks that you've been waking up past lunch time. What's going on?"

Delilah sighed, sitting up and leaning her back against the headboard of her bed. It felt strange living with Lara, Daren, and Seth. Their home withheld this warm and welcoming atmosphere, but she'd gotten so used to living on her own— even living with the Hayes, and the Turnbulls had felt rather strange to her. She didn't even feel like an Alpha anymore. She felt like those wolves that lived without a pack.

Like a loner, and she didn't like feeling so.

She hadn't gotten used to living and interacting openly with other people (even if she's lived for almost three whole years in a castle with over six hundred people— she was mostly always on her own if she wasn't with the rest of the golden quartet or her brother, and she had a lone dorm), but, even if she had gotten used to being around those three, she still didn't feel entirely comfortable telling them everything, especially not since she left Hogwarts for the summer; she felt shaken up for some reason. Something was going to happen. But what? She hadn't had any visions since that night before she and her best friends had confronted Sirius in the Whomping Willow. All she'd had since the beginning of that summer was the same strange dream where she'd find herself in the woods with a familiar looking man. A man with _bright green __eyes_—

_Who the heck was he?_

"Delilah!"

"What?"

"What's going on?" She didn't reply. Lara sighed. "You're not gonna tell me, are you?"

"Just be glad I don't wake up screaming anymore," Delilah mumbled, getting off her bed. She shifted around, making it up, and placed it pattern-side down, and folded the top of the sheet over her duvet, the pattern revealing a tad bit from under it.

Lara groaned. "Delilah, look, I know I'm not the best aunt out there—"

"Second cousin."

"Close enough! Dels, my point is that I'm really trying, okay? I know this is all different for you, but we're trying to help you—"

"Have you ever been tortured in your sleep?"

Lara gave her a perplexed look. "What?"

"Have you ever been tortured in your sleep?" she repeated. Lara was too puzzled now to answer. "Or even awake— have you ever had people chasing you and trying to kill you since the moment you were born?"

Lara didn't know how to answer.

"No?" Delilah gave her an empty smile before making her way over to her wardrobe. "What about growing up without a family? With one of your natural enemies?" She opened the door of her closet. "Not even that?"

She laughed. The pain Lara was beginning to feel for Delilah was indescribable; the girl behind the smile was broken and she never knew it. She had them fooled.

"Have you ever dreamed of someone you never knew, yet you feel like you once did?" her voice was soft now.

"Are you afraid?" Lara asked her quietly. The interrupting question was random, and, frankly, Lara had no idea why she asked Delilah that, but she had to know the answer to that question.

"Afraid?" Delilah asked, a smile on her face, as she absentmindedly brought a hand up to the right side of her neck. She chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head. "I'm an Alpha." The way she said it was as though she was trying to reassure herself.

"Alphas don't know fear."

That was a lie. She'd lived in fear for seven years— no, her whole life she'd lived in fear. She'd known the second she was born that she was going to live a hellish life, yet part of her hadn't wanted to believe that. It was hard to not believe it anymore when the Adams had taken her.

She sighed, shaking her head again, her smile fading. "Can you please leave? I have to change."

She changed in less than three minutes, but, even then, she didn't leave her room. She grabbed the book she'd never gotten around to finish since she'd left the orphanage; she still had it, along with the red wine jewelry box Alice had given to her all those years ago, which surprised her what with everything that has happened in the past few years at Hogwarts. When she opened the book, the first sentence to jump to her eyes was:

"_When you know that something is dying inside you, you learn not to put much trust in the random vitalities of the fleeting moment_."

Something stirred inside of her when she read it. She didn't know what it was or why, but she had a feeling it would mean something more to her further on, if not this year, then the next, but it would mean something soon.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. _Coughing_ slightly, Delilah closed her book as she stood from where she sat on the divan in the corner of her room, and made her way out of her room, down the stairs and to the front door. It was the dry-cleaner's delivery boy coming to deliver Delilah's uniform. After giving him an extra tip, Delilah closed the door and made her way back toward the stairs, though stopped when she was spoken to.

"Why do you insist on dressing up like that?" Lara asked, eyeing the young fourteen year-old's outfit.

Delilah looked down at her attire; she was wearing a rather large red-wine t-shirt with a matching pair of leggings and new sneakers. Over the shirt and _tight _trousers, she had slipped on modern fitting overall shorts, which had fully adjustable straps, functional buttons at the side, belt loops and five functional pockets, and layered over her tailored shirt.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

It was as though the earlier heavy conversation was completely forgotten.

Lara rolled her eyes. "You dress up like a boy, you—"

"Wha— I take offense, that is not true!"

"— have the baggiest oversized clothes I have ever seen!"

Delilah sighed. "That is not true," she repeated. "I mean, look at what I'm wearing: I'm wearing _very_ short shorts— it should be illegal to wear them this short."

"You're wearing _tights _under your shorts, and even they are baggy on you."

Daren, her uncle, sighed, putting his newspaper down. "Lara, telling her to eat more would have sufficed."

But Lara only ignored him. "Goddess— Delilah, you work at one of the fanciest restaurants in _England _as a _waitress_, not a butler!" she exclaimed herself, motioning toward the black tuxedo Delilah was holding, which was the uniform the delivery boy brought in.

"Okay, first of all... the theme just so happens to be 'maids and butlers'. Second of all, there is no way I'm walking around Mayfair in a short drape—"

"Dress."

"— that will barely hide my rear. I'm fine with wearing a tux, and, besides, my boss doesn't mind."

"Delilah, you're a girl. You. Have. To. Dress. Like. A. Girl. Especially at One Mayfair!"

Delilah sighed and rolled her eyes as she ran a hand through her hair.

One Mayfair used to be a brothel, back when it had first been built in the 1820s, though Delilah was glad it wasn't one anymore as she now worked as a server in the enormous, fancy cabaret-like restaurant. She had started working there two weeks right after the summer vacation had begun. Delilah really liked that job, but, the main downside to it was that she had to stop the regular visits she'd been giving Harry, to keep him company while he was at the Dursleys. At least he was going to be joining Ron and his family soon, but she still felt guilty for breaking her promise of coming to visit him all the time.

"You know what?" Lara said. "I'm gonna treat you to makeover at the department store."

Delilah squinted. "Makeover? Where stuck-up girls make snooty faces at us, while they pluck our eyebrows until we scream, and then they tell us, 'Well, you'd be pretty if you took care of your skin'?" she said, the last part in a higher pitched voice, before giving Lara a flat look. "Pass."

Lara groaned. "This is not what I imagined having another girl in the house would be like."

Seth looked up from where he laid on a couch and gave his sister a curious look. "How do you even know they do that?" he asked her.

She faked a thoughtful look. "Well, let's see... I have a best friend that grew up as a Muggle. I knew a few girls back at the orphanage who were Muggles... oh, and did you know there's such thing as books?" she asked, faking a surprised gasp, making her brother roll his eyes at her playfulness. "No, but really, all joking aside, you'd be surprised by how many books actually talk about that kind of stuff. And, I may not exactly be innocent, but this face," she motioned toward her face, "is very innocent, and I am not letting it get tortured."

Lara snorted, slumping down on another couch. "You're telling me; you have jungles for eyebrows."

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Ha ha," she said, quickly clearing her throat to hide the cough that was just about to come out.

Seth frowned, noticing that. He was about to talk about it, but cut himself off when his sister took a hold of his long hair and began to absentmindedly play with it as she tilted her head to the side.

"Remind me to cut your hair soon," was all she said before disappearing up the stairs and into her room.

Daren frowned. "Is it just me, or has she gotten more bizarre?"

"You're not the only one who thinks that, Daren," Lara replied with a sigh.

Evening and night went by quickly, though it felt like forever to Delilah. The restaurant had been much more packed than it usually was. It was restless and stressful, and the job was incredibly tedious...

_At least it's Thursday; that means one day closer to Friday, and then I'll be home free on Saturday_, she thought tiredly as the aching in her head pounded harder and harder.

It was just another night at One Mayfair, though it was a little worse than other nights; the previous night, Delilah had to go home later than usual, then when she went to sleep, half her dreams were nightmares, while the other half was that same dream she'd been having for almost two months now. She'd barely eaten the previous day and had nothing to eat the current day; she ran right into the back door because she was almost late, her muscles were abnormally sore; she was aching and hurting all over the place. Stars were dancing all around her vision; she had a killer headache, she felt nauseous— all in all, she felt like a Muggle going through a hangover.

As had become per usual, before work she welcomed her fellow waiters and waitresses with a smile as they started their evening; smiling and gently directing every customer to a table, politely asking for their order, bringing it back to them with a smile... honestly, she didn't know how much longer she could keep this up.

All she wanted was some _real_ sleep.

She coughed lightly and was just walking back into the private room for employees when she stumbled into something hard. Her footing was caught off guard, and her eyes widened in shock as she felt herself stumble. She felt the weight of gravity pulling her down when a hand wrapped around her wrist, catching her from her impending doom. Her head spun in a daze, and she shut her eyes closed tightly to try and refocus. When she opened her eyes, she looked into a pair of familiar bright green hues, though before she could say anything, she blinked for a second, and the man to have saved her from her fall was gone the next.

No name, no face.

Sighing, she put her apron away, then began to walk toward the back door. "Bye, Clary, have a good night!" she said softly.

Everybody else had gone a bit earlier than her since Clary Smith, her boss' right-hand girl and niece, always gave her extra for cleaning up the restaurant.

"Bye, Deli. Rest well; don't want you getting sick now, do we?"

Delilah let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "You're right. Same time tomorrow?"

"Yup― oh, hey! A week from now, next month, you'll have to come in earlier."

Delilah gave her a weird look, but chuckled. "A month from now... why are you telling me what's a month ahead?"

"Well, we're going to have a _big_ event."

"Bigger than usual?" Delilah asked, her voice straining a bit. Usually, when they had a big event, they'd only say it was an event, so, if Clary was saying it was a _big_ one... Delilah already felt overwhelmed, even if it was going to happen in a month.

Clary hummed. "We're going to be opening at four that day; the mayor's comin'."

Delilah's brows raised in surprise. "The Mayor?" Clary nodded. "Wow, I never would've imagined..."

"Me neither, but this place is getting bigger on events; it'll be his matrimonial anniversary and his little boy's birthday too, and they chose One Mayfair!"

"So it'll be a double take?"

"Yup."

"Alright, is twelve going to be alright?"

"Twelve is perfect."

"Alright, see you tomorrow."

"Bye!"

As soon as she closed the door behind herself, the man from earlier popped his way back into her mind. Those eyes... he looked so familiar— she sighed; it was like the whole man in her dreams thing again. Delilah didn't know what to make of it, though, presently, there wasn't much she could make of it as her focus kept wavering and her coughing became more violent. Her heart practically had an attack when a voice called out her name.

She took in a deep breath and cleared her throat before turning around. It was Stephen Appleby, her boss' son. He was a year younger than her, so he didn't work there yet, but he still hung around and helped sometimes. They met when she came looking for a job, and he'd begun to tell her off about it once he'd learned she was only about a year older than him and not as old as she appeared to be. Of course, his mother paid him no mind about it and gave her the job almost immediately because Delilah "is so cute and would make a perfect waitress at the _house_!" At the time, his mother, having some Chinese and Japanese roots in her ancestry apart from the English and Russian, had some weird obsession with maids' dresses mainly due to the many Anime books she'd read when she was younger, and she had all her waitresses dress like maids, while the waiters dressed like butlers. And when she imagined what Delilah would look like in a cute maid's dress, she practically exploded with excitement. Eventually, the thrill died down when Delilah made it clear from the first day that she would not wear a dress and would not dance, or sing, or perform anything, even if it's for the entertainment of the customers, and would only take orders and serve tables, and help with the cleaning afterward, if so was needed.

Delilah was a good worker, and that was what made Mr. and Mrs. Appleby overlook the fact that she chose to wear then men's uniform to work instead of one of the dresses assigned for the women, but they worried about her because she always overworked herself. She stayed extra hours, did extra shifts; it was too much for a fourteen-year-old, she shouldn't be able to handle so much, yet she did, and even Lara and Daren would worry and ask her why she tried and did so; she didn't really need the money as her vault had plenty of it already.

"I don't want to spend what I haven't earned. Besides, I've spent enough of it in my first three years, I need to pay it back," she would repeat.

She felt disrespectful for spending money that wasn't hers, even though it was now under her name. Her mother had earned it, and her grandparents beforehand; it just doesn't feel right to spend something that belongs to the deceased. It wasn't just that; even from the much she'd gotten from Sirius, she hadn't spent a dime. She didn't want to spend what she didn't work hard to earn; that's what Alphas are supposed to do. Besides, Sirius might need his money someday, albeit him reassuring her in the few letters he'd sent her that he wouldn't. She knew he would; _when_ he'd get his freedom back, he would have to catch up on the lot he'd missed, starting with new clothes.

Despite her excuses, though, nobody stopped worrying. They noticed the bags under her eyes, how she'd stumble over her own feet (and she's possibly one of the most coordinated people in the world), the struggle she seemed to go through when she would try to fight back a cough; Seth wouldn't dare to say it out loud, but he'd hear her at night, mumbling incoherently in her sleep, at times whimpering, and when she'd wake up, she'd be coughing so loud, and even if she puts a spell on her room every night so no one would hear her, he still could as he resided in the bedroom right beside hers and could hear her through the ventilation, or when their windows would coincidentally be open at the same time. It pained him every other morning to see her act as though nothing happened. He didn't wish to see her as broken as that night she'd confessed to him all those months ago in Hogwarts, but he just wished she would tell him more. Let him in more. Let him help her before the impossible happened, and she gets sick.

He'd try. Daren would try. Lara would try. But Delilah would just smile and deny.

When her bosses would tell her of their worries for her, she would always wave them off with a smile, telling them she couldn't get sick. They, being a family of magic and knowing she was a witch in training at Hogwarts, believed she made potions to avoid getting sick, but, of course, they didn't know of her being a hybrid, nor how the many creatures she was were immune to Muggle diseases. But, though she would never admit it aloud, that was what secretly worried Delilah herself; she was a freaky witchy hybrid, with the strongest immune system in the world— she shouldn't be able to get sick, yet, there she'd been, for the past two weeks, practically coughing her guts out when no one was looking.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, though the cough falling from her mouth countered her reassurance. It was then followed by another, and another, and, soon, she was going through another coughing fit, Stephen placing a hand on her back, his other holding her arm to keep her from falling.

"I thought you said you couldn't get sick," he said softly once the coughing fit had died out.

Delilah frowned, wincing slightly as she let out a heavy sigh. "I can't."

"Do you want me to come with you? For safety reasons, obviously; women shouldn't be out on the streets this late," he offered.

Delilah shook her head and stepped backward and away from him. "I know, but I'll be fine. I'm not a famous witch for no reason, Stephen," she told him, laughing lightly in the end, only to find herself coughing again, almost falling over her own feet.

Clearing her throat once more, she steadied herself, taking a deep breath. "Okay, now I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. See you tomorrow."

And with that, she turned and began to walk away, thinking— _hoping_ he'd left her be, but, to her dismay, his footsteps trailed after her.

"Never mind, then," she mumbled, her eyebrow twitching in slight irritation, letting him continue to trail behind her. She knew he was only looking out for her, but, she couldn't help but get annoyed at how much everyone was hovering over her lately.

A couple of minutes passed, a couple of blocks—_ Only a few more feet until I reach the house_, she thought, sighing as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her blazer. The walk back was quiet between them, with the exception of a few questions inquired by Stephen, and short replies from Delilah. Her physical state was still no good, not to mention the added walking made her feet hurt. Her head still pounded, spots still twinkled in her slowly blackening vision, the world spun around her; she didn't know how much further she could go on.

"Hey, you alright?" Stephen asked, looking over at her.

She didn't give him a response as she had stopped in her tracks, trying to catch her breath. She started wheezing and gasping for breath as if she was a regular Muggle that had just run a marathon, legs giving into pressure as she sat on the curb of the sidewalk. All the spinning made her headache worsen, and nausea started up again, making her swallow countless times in fear of throwing up. She buried her head in her hands, closing her eyes in attempts to slow down or stop the spinning; it somewhat did.

"Delilah," Stephen crouched down next to her, taking her hands in his larger ones.

Gently grasping her chin, he tilted her head up so she was facing him. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and she closed eyes; his cold hand against her unusually hotter skin felt comforting.

"You're running a fever," he stated, getting back up and offering a hand in her direction.

She shook her head, "No, I'm fine," she panted, swallowing to moisten her dry throat. "I can't be— I'm positive— it's just really hot outside and I'm wearing a tuxedo, a-and—"

"Delilah," he interrupted her, and she snapped her head back up to him.

She looked from his outstretched limb to his calm expression, and then back to his hand. Weakly, she placed her hand in his and curled her unusually clammy fingers around his comparatively colder ones.

"Think you can walk back home?" he asked, tugging her up to his level.

She nodded her head affirmatively, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine—"

As soon as she stood up, though, she immediately felt faint and lightheaded as millions of black dots covered the world around her. She felt her knees started to tremble beneath her weight and she would've collapsed to the floor if it weren't for Stephen catching her in the nick of time.

"Sure you are," he muttered sarcastically, and proceeded to pick her up and into his arms, one arm wrapped around her back while the other was supporting her legs from underneath her knees. In shock, she pressed a hand onto his chest and clung closer to his body.

She weakly pouted as he continued walking down the road, "It was just vertigo."

"Which is very unusual coming from you, might I add," said Stephen.

"How would you know? You've barely known me for a month. This is nothing, it's because I sat up so quickly and too much blood rushed to my head," she explained, forcing herself to keep her eyes open and from relaxing in his arms.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it was, but you're still too weak to walk all the way back to your house," he countered, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. That soon went away, though, as he looked ahead, a small frown on his face. "Deli, how many hours of sleep did you get last night?"

Delilah shrugged, eyes drooping. "About two or three..." she mumbled, stifling back a yawn.

He glared at her, but didn't say any more about it as he was quick to change the subject. "Aren't you quite the cuddler," he commented, with a small grin on his face.

"Shut up, I have my reasons," she muttered.

Though he didn't stop there. "Say, don't you hate men? What makes me an exception?" he asked in a joking manner.

"Are you seriously asking that to the girl who has a brother and two best friends that happen to be boys?"

Stephen sighed. "It's just... the way you act around the other guys... even the male customers. You put on a smile, but your eyes are distant and unwilling... reluctant towards men. Every time someone says boyfriend, you act as though you've never heard the word." Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. "And you always stay as far away as possible from anyone, even more so when they're from your opposite sex."

_"You little brat, why don't you understand? There. Is. No. Escape. You are not going away, so come back here so I can finish with you."_

Delilah blinked, breathing hard. "I have my reasons," she repeated in a whisper, tugging on Stephen's arm to let her down as they reached the front steps of Daren's house.

"Thank you for carrying me all the way ho—" She cut herself off, clearing her throat. "All the way _here_."

Stephen shrugged. "Not a problem. By the way, you don't have to come in tomorrow if you don't w—"

"I'll be there."

He sighed. "Fine, then at least rest and take care of yourself tonight."

Delilah nodded. "Will do."

Exchanging their final farewells for the night, Stephen turned on his heels and walked off into the night. Running a hand through her hair with a sigh, Delilah turned and walked up the steps, tiredly waving her hand to magically open the door soundlessly. Stepping inside, she was greeted by the soft snores coming from dark brown Bernese Mountain dog, who slept on his dog mat near the front door, and only a bit of light, thus of the lit lantern in the parlor.

They'd all probably already gone to sleep, too.

She closed the door behind her, locking it, then stepped forward, leaned down and gently patted Dopey, who had opened his eyes at the ghostly sound of her movements, on the head. The dog hummed in contentment before resting his head back on his paws, closing his thin eyelids.

Delilah went to the parlor and switched the light off before silently making her way up the stairs and into her room. She flicked the lights on and softly closed the door behind herself, sighing and smiling slightly at the phoenix sleeping on the perch by the window.

Setting her keys on the small, tall table by the door, she proceeded by changing out of her tuxedo before slipping on some more comfortable clothes to sleep in. She didn't realize how tired she really was until her head hit the large pillows on her twin-sized bed, and darkness instantly consumed her.

_Her eyes fluttered open, slightly startled by the familiar yet unfamiliar voice. She glanced around, eyes widening in surprise when she found herself sitting once again in the middle of beautiful meadow._

_"Delilah..." the voice called out again._

_This made her stand up, though she frowned as she did when she found herself struggling a bit to do so. She looked down and found herself stuffed into a beautiful black gown. The black satin had shine and depth, and beautifully accented the hand beading made of seed beads, swarovski crystals, and montees. The train and the hem edge were covered with pleats, the back of the dress lacing up in a corseted style. The bodice had structure and boning for a smooth, even fit, and looked perfect on her with the black heeled slippers they'd been matched with— except for the fact that she didn't like wearing dresses, and had no idea how to walk in heels!_

_Shuddering slightly, she looked up and glanced around, seeking to find out where the voice was coming from. She asked who was there as she kept shifting her gaze around, her eyes instinctively shifting toward what seemed to be the deeper part of the forest._

_"Lilah, it's me. I'm right here," the voice whispered right in her ear, making her heart thump hard against her chest._

_When she turned, no one was there until she turned back around. She found herself staring into a pair of beautiful bright green eyes. They were staring right back into hers with love, adoration and relief. There was something else she could read in them, but she couldn't tell what it was._

_"You're here," she said, her voice laced with relief._

_"Of course, my love. I will always be here for you," he answered. He then grabbed her hands and held them up to his chest as he pulled her closer, then leaned down and placed his soft lips against hers in a gentle, yet passionate kiss. However, it didn't last long as he pulled away rather quickly._

_She frowned, slightly, gazing up at him with worry evident in her eyes and voice as she asked him what was wrong. He told her it was almost time, but she did not understand what he meant by that._

_Her frown deepened with her confusion. "Time for what? What's wrong?" she pressed._

_"For..."_

_"Delilah!"_

* * *

As soon as a faint whimper reached his ears, Seth's eyes snapped open and groggily looked around. It was dark, and the only source of light was a single ray of moonlight piercing through the silk drapes covering his window. The whimper reached his ears once more, and he instantly sat up.

_What time is it?_

He glanced toward his left where, on the wooden nightstand that separated his bed from the transfigured one, his digital alarm clock sat silently marking the seconds to the next minute and hour.

_3:59:51_

Tearing his gaze from the clock, Seth glanced toward the door, hesitant. Should he...? Or maybe he should wait a bit...

Straining his neck a tad bit, Seth _opened_ his hearing to the maximum. On the dog mat near the entrance, Dopey was fast asleep, snoring lightly. In the kitchen lavatory, stray drops of water were sneaking their way out from the aerator and onto the sink, creating a metallic plinking sound, which was, though soft, rather loud. In the room at the end of the hall, his uncle was snoring a bit louder than their dog, though that wasn't anything unusual; in the room beside Daren's, Lara slept soundlessly. In his own room, Seth could hear his own silent breathing, and thus of the other resident in his room apart from Arrow, their family owl, who was sleeping in his room for the night, hooting lowly in his slumber. In the room neighboring his though, ignoring the cat-like purr emitted from the phoenix sleeping in there, Seth finally realized who was producing the whimpers and instantly began to push his covers away from himself, though, albeit him having strength much greater than thus of a regular human, it was rather hard as he had so many covers and blankets. Why did he even have so many? His temperature was way higher than the average.

Suddenly, he froze when the whimpers and the cat-like purrs stopped. He jumped back, startled, when a poof of fire appeared in front of him. He coughed, waving away the smoke that was blowing on his face.

"What's going on?"

Seth turned to the figure on the other bed that had lit the lamp on the nightstand. He shrugged, still waving the smoke from his face.

"I don't know, man."

When the smoke cleared, his sister's fiery red and slightly multicolored phoenix stood there on his bed.

"Whoa."

Seth looked up with a halfhearted grin. "I know— ow! Blaze!" He gave the phoenix a reproachful look. "What the heck?!"

But Blaze only continued to tug on his sleeve in a slightly urgent manner, causing Seth to frown. The boy that had been laying on his own bed stood and walked over to Seth and the supposedly mythical vertebrate.

"Is he supposed to do that?"

Blaze turned and gave him a look that made it seem as though she were scowling at him.

"Actually, he's a she," Seth informed. "What's wrong Blaze?"

Blaze turned her head toward the wall that connected his room to his sister's and squawked. There were no longer whimpers resonating from that bedroom, but Seth could hear his sister's heart speeding up and beginning to pound louder and louder against her chest. He frowned again and exchanged a knowing look with his guest.

"Do you think I should...?"

He shrugged, tiredly scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. You know how your sister can get; what if she locked her door?"

Seth sighed. "I don't know."

* * *

_Blinking, everything around her began to shift, and, when everything went still, she found herself suddenly standing alone, no longer in the forest. She stood at the altar in what she looked like a church, though she knew it was not. It looked very much like the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though, there were no tables divided into rows, and there was no single table standing at the end of the room, opposing the giant doors. The entire room was lit by hundreds and hundreds of royal-looking chandeliers that were floating in midair. Other than that, it was empty._

_Confused by the sudden change of scenery, she glanced around._

_"Hello," she called out, her voice echoing loud throughout the chamber. If it hadn't been for the sunvary, light ivory ball gown she was now wearing, she would've turned around much more quickly._

_Gaze shifting around a bit more, her eyes finally stopped on a tall, slender figure standing by the large doors at the other end of the enormous room. She stayed still, but did not remove her wary eyes from the figure as it began approaching her. Her heart began to hammer as the person neared her, only to stop the moment it stood before her. Even her breath got caught up in her throat as she looked up at the stranger that was very familiar to her._

_"You must Delilah," said the stranger in a very smooth voice._

_Delilah couldn't find it in herself to answer..._

* * *

"I'm hungry."

"Then go get something, you know where the kitchen is. I'm going to the bathroom." He paused at the foot of his bed. "If you find my sister out of her room, don't cross her. She's either sleepwalking or in a really bad mood, and both are likely, especially at the time it is."

"Sure thing, man."

* * *

_She was staring back at herself._

_Her mirrored self was wearing a different gown— a red wine colored gown which was much less simple than Delilah's, and her hair was curly, whereas Delilah's flowed in waves past her waist. Other than those tiny little details, they were identical; it was as though Delilah was staring at her self from a past life, or from another universe. She knew that, even though the person standing before her looked so much like her, she wasn't her. But how was it even possible? Delilah knew she never had a twin like her mother had had._

_"How is this possible?" she whispered in shock._

_'Her other self' did not answer, but looked Delilah from top to bottom. She slowly walked forward and around Delilah in a seductive, deliberate manner, running a finger across Delilah's neck, moving a long lock of hair back and twirling it around her finger._

_"Wrong question," she purred into her ear._

_But Delilah, despite how uncomfortable she felt, she needed to know. "How is this possible?" she repeated. "How do we look so much alike?"_

_She was laughed at, but that wasn't all that bothered Delilah. It was the fact that, not only did she look like her, she also sounded just like her._

_"Oh, sweetheart, we don't just 'look some much alike'," her other self said, her voice holding a playful scolding edge to it as a sly smirk made its way onto her plump lips coated with red lipstick._

_She stopped circling her and stood in front of her, the smirk never leaving her face as the sclera of her eyes turned blood-red, dark veins appearing under them as the blood pumps forcefully through them, and her canine teeth extended into razor-sharp fangs._

_Delilah's eyes went wide with terror, mostly confusion flashing through them as she stared at her. Before she could even blink, her other self had blurred in front of her till her face was but centimeters away from hers, her blood-red eyes staring into violet orchidee orbs._

_"We are exactly the same."_

_And she lunged forward, mouth widened as her fangs became longer, about to pierce through her—_

Her eyes snapped open, and she was breathing heavily, her body completely shaken up from that horrible memory. She sat up but instantly regretted it as she went into a new coughing fit. Clearing her throat, she blinked a few times before glancing around, as though to remember where she was. Her room, always neat and in order. She sighed and laid back down, though frowned when a familiar voice reached her mind.

"_Are you alright, child?_"

Delilah looked over to her right and found Blaze sitting quietly on her night table, watching her with worrisome small black orbs. She sighed, running her hand down her face as she nodded. "I'm better. The coughing's died out," she said, pushing herself out of her bed. "I'm gonna get something to drink. Do you want anything? Bread?"

Blaze squawked, flapping her wings and flying toward her perch. "_There is no need to bring me anything, Delilah_."

Delilah shrugged as she slipped on a pair of sneakers. "If you say so," she replied before standing up and leaving her room.

Closing her door behind her, she tiredly rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, as she leaned her back against her door for a long moment, trying to even her still heavy breath, before, exhaustively, dragging herself down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where she began to prepare herself a large cup of coffee.

Breath still heavy and ragged, she stared at the heating pot as she waited for the water to boil, though only glanced up when she saw her inhaler being held out to her. She made her way over to the refrigerator, opened it and brought out the double chocolate cake she had baked a few days ago.

_"You can't escape."_

Delilah gasped, almost dropping the cake stand along with the cake itself.

_"We made this place impossible to escape for humans."_

Delilah placed the cake on the counter beside the stove, walked over to the sink and placed her hands on its edge as she breathed in deeply. Why was she having these flashbacks now? She barely had any of _those_ the previous year... was it because she had rejuvenated and lost her memory? It couldn't be that, because the entire last year she'd been having glimpses of her past before the attack on Anima Curatoria.

_"Clean up this mess and no more slacking off, worthless."_

Shutting her eyes, she let out a small breath through her nose, shuddering slightly, before opening them again and making her way back to the cake. She cut herself a small slice, then put the rest of it back in the cooling compartment before turning the stove off as the water was ready.

She then grabbed a mug from the cupboard above the kitchen lavatory and poured the water of the kettle into it, carefully. She threw two tablespoons of ground coffee into her cup and stirred it till the grains dissolved within the hot water. She paused for a moment, glancing over at her slice of cake. Sighing, she grabbed the plate she had placed the cake on and put it in the refrigerator, knowing she wasn't going to eat it in the end, before making her way back toward her mug of coffee and resuming her stirring.

After a few seconds of just stirring and staring at her cup, she took the spoon out, poured in three tablespoons of sugar and stirred it a bit more before throwing the utensil into the sink and bringing the cup up to her chapped lips, taking a long sip of the hot drink. It was hot, very hot as it rivered down her throat, and the fact that she was drinking it black didn't help much as she utterly disliked black coffee, albeit her becoming quite addicted to it over the past month. But, at this moment, the dull burning drink was better than a soft, warm one. It kept her awake. It kept her aware of the reality around her.

_"You little brat, why don't you understand? There. Is. No. Escape."_

Aware of the cruelness in the world.

She looked up and stared blankly at the closed cupboard in front of her, feeling a pair of eyes settled upon her. She waited for a moment, expecting the gaze to shift away from her, but whoever had their eyes on her just kept on staring at her.

Sighing, she slowly began to turn around. "Seth, would you stop star—" she cut herself off when she found herself staring down into a pair of eyes that were far from being a violet orchidee.

Her brows furrowed as she looked into the pair of unfamiliar sea blue eyes. She shifted her gaze around the owner's face and body; he was shorter than her, probably Seth's height and age, he had pale skin that had a slight tanned tint to it, and long jet black hair. But she had no idea who he was.

"You're not Seth."

The raven-headed boy let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck, as a light blush made its way onto his cheeks. "Yeah... no, I'm not."

They stared at each other for a moment, an awkward silence surrounding them.

She sighed, running a hand through her slightly messy hair. "Yeah... this is the part where you tell me who you are."

The blush darkened on his cheeks. "Oh! Right, er... I'm William Eberhardt."


	4. Practice and Changes

**Practice and changes**

William Eberhardt, or Will as he went by, was a rather cute raven headed boy, with big sea blue eyes. Unlike the rest of his family, he had a rather tall frame, though he was quite small and lanky for someone who came from a family of shifters. He was perceptibly a Muggleborn as he was the only one in his family to have magic, and an only child, which was why he was so close to Seth; he was the brother he never had. Both boys had known each other and grown up together since they were both toddlers, and had both spent a year together being home schooled before both beginning their first yet second year at Hogwarts the previous year, when Delilah had started her third.

"Wait, you go to Hogwarts?!"

It was quite understandable why Delilah had never noticed him; she had never really taken the time to meet her brother's friends. Though how was it possible that she never noticed the boy her brother was always around with when he wasn't with her, or even when he was? Maybe it was because Will was the kind of boy that tried hard to camouflage himself with anything in sight, out of shyness, as to not be noticed.

Either way, Delilah felt horrible about it, even more so when she had found out he'd been staying with them, for the past two weeks since his parents were traveling as they were anthropologists. So, for the next few days, while she wasn't at work or in her room, Delilah spent her time with her brother and Will, and, surprisingly, she got along well with her brother's friend, though, unfortunately for him, she was completely oblivious at the fact that he was smitten and completely and utterly in _puppy love_ with her.

Seth, who was also oblivious of his best friend's affections toward his sister, was only happy that his sister was, though slowly, coming back out of her shell. He was ecstatic when they'd both gotten her playing around and laughing _genuinely_, though it soon faded two weeks later when Lara had found out about her scars. How she had found out, neither of them knew, but Seth knew her bringing them up was a really bad move.

That Saturday night was going on rather normally... well, as normal as things can go in the Dawn Harrison residence. Daren was drinking his usual mug of coffee, watching the television from the armchair in the parlor, Seth and Will watching as well from the carpeted floor, eating their night snack. Delilah had been in the kitchen, at that moment, leaning against the counter beside the stove, sipping at her own mug of coffee when Lara suddenly came down the stairs and just blurted out the words.

"Why did you never tell me about them?"

Blowing a bit at her hot drink, Delilah's eyes squinted in slight confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Delilah."

She looked up and stared blankly as her second cousin.

Lara was a pretty, short brunette, with almond-shaped, deep brown eyes with thick dark lashes; she was one of the few in their entire family to have been born with a normal color of eyes. Unlike the rest of _their _family... well, as far as Delilah knew, she had quite a petite frame, especially for someone her age and _species_, but she was very pretty with her oval face with fine bone structure, that wealth of brown wavy hair that fell past her shoulders, and, though she still wore very bit of make-up, she was more natural than any other woman Delilah had seen, with, maybe, only Miss Kathie, Mrs. Weasley, and her Aunt Cynthia being exceptions.

Lara was also very kind and compassionate, though sometimes she spoke without thinking and ended up saying some rather insensitive things, only realizing it later, after she had already said it. Delilah never really had any problem with her from the beginning, but, ever since she had started living with them, she had found herself getting rather irritated with Lara as she constantly pressured Delilah into opening up more already, not quite grasping that the girl had only begun speaking again less than three years ago, and that years of having gone missing from the surface of the world was not really something she wanted to tell to just about anyone. Yes, they were family, and they shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other, but her past was just not something she was ready to reveal, and, when she was pressured into doing so, she only became blunt, cold and distant all over again.

"Why didn't you tell me about the scars? How— what happened?" There she goes again.

The teenager looked away, brows furrowed as she stared down at the cup in her hands, which she gripped tightly, her knuckles whitening.

"Why should I tell _you_?"

"We made a deal, remember?" There was a long pause before Lara said, in a softer tone, "We're family, and that means no more secrets."

A second passed, then, suddenly, the ceramic cup shattered from Delilah's tight grip on it, cutting through her roughly-skinned hands, the hot drink splashing onto the floor and her clothes. The burning of the steaming liquid wasn't what made her fight back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, nor the blood that was now oozing from her cut hands, which were slowly healing. No, it was the emotional agony she was going through as the memories of years of torture and loss rushed back into her mind all at once; nothing hurt her more than the pain of knowing her own fate of anticipated doom. The pain of knowing that, even though Seth, Daren, and Lara were part of her family, they weren't her family. She lost her family. Long ago.

In _Anima Curatoria_.

Delilah looked at Lara with cold eyes. "Is it because we're... _family_ that you _think_ I should tell you _everything_, or is it just because I remind you of my mother and you two just so happened to be best friends who told each other everything?"

Lara's lips parted, though no word left her mouth. She had no idea what to say.

Meanwhile, Delilah was raging more. At first, she had been flattered to be compared to her mother, the woman she had spent her life missing... the woman she had spent her life idolizing. But then... she realized, what was it that she idolized about her? She had known her mother for barely a year, and, even then, she didn't really _know_ her. She didn't know what her mother was really like apart from the kind smiles she'd give her and the fact that she loved singing, but... that was just it. She didn't really know anything about her mother. All she knew was what she'd been told about her and even that was always vague as all people would do is smile at her when she did something that reminded them of her mother, and that's all they would voice.

_You're a lot like your mother..._

_You remind me of someone I once knew... _ _Ella-Grace_ _..._

_You are so much like your mother..._

_You're just like your—_

Ugh!

She grew tired of it. It seemed as though that was all people saw when they looked at her. They all saw Ella-Grace Dawn rather than Delilah Dawn, and she was tired of it. She was kindhearted, compassionate and caring towards others just like her mother had been, and, then, there was also the fact that she looked a lot like her mother had in her teenage years, but Delilah was becoming so tempted into just shaving her head and become an ice queen if that's what it would take for people to stop comparing her to her mother. She was tired that the comparisons practically forced her to live up to the expectations placed upon her, that was also what made her doubt lately about whether she wanted to be an Alpha anymore, or not.

"And no more secrets?" Delilah scoffed. "You're one to talk; if I hadn't walked in on your conversation with Daren that day, I would've never found out about Sirius being my father."

Sick of it all, Delilah scoffed once more before swiftly walking past Lara without sparing her another glance, and disappearing up the stairs and into her room, not bothering to care that she left quite a mess behind.

The next morning, she simply laid on her bed in the dark, a single ray of sunshine piercing through the silky blue drapes covering the large window in her room. Her hands, which hadn't exactly healed well, were bandaged and kept at her sides as she laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The telephone suddenly rang, bringing her out of her empty reverie. She turned her head to the side and stared at her extension. It rang a few more times before finally stopping, making her turn her stare back to the ceiling. It was Tuesday, but she wasn't needed at work for the day as it was her day off. After staring at the ceiling for a few more seconds, she shut her eyes close, taking a deep pained breath before letting it out.

_No coughing; thank the Goddess of the moon_.

Her eyes snapped back open when she heard her name being called from the living room.

"It's your friend from school."

She hesitated for a moment before sighing, pushing herself up onto her elbows to reach for her extension, then laying back down when she picked it up.

"Hey, Herme..." The air coming out of her mouth, as she greeted the other person on the line in a whisper, rasped her throat, making her strain her neck slightly as to not cough right then and there.

The door to her room was ajar. Lara waited outside. Listening. Hearing nothing. Mentally cursing herself; if she hadn't given up her phasing, she'd probably still be able to hear up to the smallest of sounds... but then again, she would be intruding in on Delilah's privacy and, so far, that hadn't done either of them any good; their aunt-and-niece/second-cousin relationship was really sliding downhill.

She bit her tongue, hesitating for a moment, before she pushed the door open and saw the teenage girl sitting in her darkened room, on her bed, back facing the door, completely deflated.

"What do you want?" Though she had spoken the day before, it sounded as she hadn't spoken in days, weeks, as her voice held a raspy edge to it.

Lara was pained to see her this way, especially knowing it was her own fault this time. "Delilah, I'm really sor—"

"It's fine, you didn't know I would react that way," she cut her off.

Lara looked at her, slightly taken aback. "Deli—"

"Just leave it," she cut her off again. "It's not worth going over again, only for me to throw another tantrum."

But it wasn't a tantrum she threw. If she considered giving someone the cold shoulder and walking away a tantrum, or laughing coldly and walking off too, then she most certainly never saw or threw a tantrum in her life.

Lara was so tempted to counter what Delilah had just told her, but she knew it wouldn't help anything at all, so she closed the door and left the teenage girl alone. That evening, she was still in bed, facing the wall. Lara had knocked at her door and entered with a plate of food, but she was paid no mind.

"I brought you some dinner," she said softly. No response. Sighing, she left the tray on the night table beside the twin-sized bed and left the room, leaving the girl to drown in her inexplicable grief.

She hadn't spoken to anyone. She'd forgotten all about talking with Hermione, Ron and even Harry over the phone, and ignored their calls. She felt distraught. She felt so for days. She'd stay up late. Working, studying in advance for the upcoming school year, reading books in the library. It didn't matter what she was doing, it's the feeling she got. She'd be tired, her eyes would burn and she'd have the gritty feeling one usually get after not sleeping for a while. She'd try to crawl into bed, close her eyes for a couple of minutes, while waiting for sleep to overcome her, but it either almost never did, or she would be overcome by nightmares, wake up and spend the rest of the night awake. She'd try to get a little moisture back into her eyes. That couldn't hurt anything, right? But it did. It was like telling a bird with a broken wing to fly when it clearly couldn't, when all it could do is fall.

She scavenged the entire public library near the _house_, searching for that feeling in every book and newspaper, though she found nothing. Though she was sure that even if she did find something, it will never really be exactly as she felt. Even if she did find something and other people found out about it— Lara, Daren, Seth— they would never know that her brain was actually right. And, of that, she couldn't deny that she was afraid. That's what made her second-guess everything she thought, and made her so indecisive.

When a new Thursday came around, Delilah found herself trying to relax; work had been canceled for the day and the next week as it was her boss' marital anniversary, and she and her husband were leaving England to celebrate. It was hard though as, every time she tried to clear her mind, a part of her two recurring dreams would pop into her head.

Sighing, she sat up and opened the door, letting the non-magical mutt that had been pawing at her door, into her room. She had barely sat back on her divan with the large family book on her laps, when, suddenly, her door flew open, revealing a rather nonchalant Seth, followed by a shy Will.

"You know there's such thing as knocking, right?" she muttered, tucking her feet under her legs as she got more comfortable in her cushioned seat.

"Where's the fun in that?" her brother retorted, flopping down on her bed.

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Did you need something?" She glanced over at Will, but he only raised his hands.

"Don't look at me," he said, his pale cheeks flushing a tinge of pink under her piercing gaze. "It was Seth's idea."

The young hybrid's eyes furrowed as she slowly closed the large book, which instantly made a 'Click'ing sound as it magically locked itself, the mechanical-looking lock disappearing afterwards.

"What idea? Seth, what's he on about?"

Seth propped himself up on his elbows and hesitated for a moment, biting his lip; something Will noticed Delilah did more than often... must be a Dawn thing.

He sighed, siting up completely, clasping his hands together over his laps. "Okay, here's the thing. You," he pointed at his sister, "need to stop locking yourself up with that book or whatever else you do in here."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, at least I finished my estival homework— something you should be doing 'bout now instead of wasting your brain cells on that system that transmits visual images and sound that are reproduced on the screen—"

"TV."

"I knew that," she snapped, her face slightly heating up.

"Why are you so snappy?" Seth blurted out, and Delilah immediately felt guilty.

She sighed, putting the book aside. "Sorry. I've just... I've been trying to see my history, but nothing from before I got to Hogwarts, or even the time I went missing at the end of my second year shows up in it." She huffed. "All I've gotten so far is: powerful, eleven-year-old witch who survived the killing curse at months' age began her time at Hogwarts entirely mute; fought off a troll, made it into the Gryffindor Quidditch team, fought off a two-faced freak, blah, blah, blah."

It was almost comical the way Will and Seth both happened to have raised their eyebrow at her at the same time, though she simply rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, it wasn't exactly in those words, but you get the idea."

"That's because you're in denial."

That confused her. "What?"

"Look. This book has a chapter for each family member of the Dawn family, all the way to before our surname came to be. We can read the story of most of our ancestors, but that's only because they've given their consent."

"... their consent?"

Seth nodded. "There souls have found peace, so they don't mind, anymore, people reading about their life because they have accepted what has happened to them, whether it was good or bad. Anyone from our family can see mine because I don't mind it. I've got nothing to hide. If wanted to, however, keep my life and story to myself, my chapter would either be empty to any eye but my own, or only what's publicly known would show up. You don't mind people knowing about what you've done since you've been to Hogwarts, but when it comes to whatever you've been through before that time and what you showed me... well, you haven't exactly come to terms with it. Until you do, you won't be able to see it. As for anyone else reading any of it, no one can unless a Dawn magically gives their consent, letting the book know that we let certain people read it."

Delilah blinked owlishly at him. "... so... what you're saying is that... this book has a mind of its own?"

Even Will looked rather baffled by that idea.

Seth nodded. "Yup," he replied, popping the last letter of the word.

Delilah nodded slowly. "Right. Now, what do you really want, besides getting me to leave my newly humble abode?" she asked, with a slight edge of sarcasm near the end.

Will stepped in, settling down beside his best friend. "Well, we were wondering... you know, since Mr. Harrison wouldn't help us... if you would—"

Seth rolled his eyes at his friend's stammering; the boy always got nervous when he asked anyone for help.

"Can you train us?" he asked simply.

Delilah blinked. "... train you," she said slowly as though the word was foreign to her.

Blaze squawked. "_I believe they are asking for your mentoring in combat, Delilah._"

Delilah glanced at her phoenix for a moment before returning her glance upon the two younger boys. "You want _me_ to train _you_," she repeated with an edge of uncertainty. "Why?"

"Well... for one, Uncle Ren doesn't want us to train."

Delilah crossed her arms over her chest. "And for a very good reason, I am sure."

Seth rolled his eyes and waved her off. "Something about us being too young and—"

"That's because you are. Seth, we've gone over this," Delilah said, standing up with the 'Dawn History' book, roaming around her room for a place to put it in the mean time.

"No. We talked about phasing."

"_You _talked about me training you into phasing."

"Same difference," he said, waving her off again. He then paused, his eyes lighting up at the reminder. "Speaking of which, can—"

"No."

"Aww, please?"

"No."

"Please, please, please, please, pretty please!"

"No."

"Not even with a cherry on top?"

"What? No."

"C'mon, Dels!"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"No."

Seth let his arms fall to his sides, lips jutting out in a pout. "Why not?"

"Again, because you don't need it."

"But I—"

Delilah huffed as she threw the book on her small table beside her divan, then spun on her heels and looked Seth dead in the eyes. "I will not teach either of you—" Her gaze shifted between Seth and Will. "— how to phase, nor will I train you. You don't need any of it right now."

"But it's not fair!" Seth said.

Delilah snorted. "Life's not fair, but you don't see me complaining," she muttered.

"Why won't you help us?" Will asked.

"I'm not experienced enough to teach that kind of stuff. Everything I know comes mostly out of instinct. A few things I learned back before..." She sighed. "Before _the_ ambush."

"Then teach us what you learned then," Will said.

Delilah sighed, running a hand through her hair. "That was way back, Will. I hardly remember any of it."

"Then teach us what you do remember."

"I can't!"

"Why n—"

"Because I can hurt you!"

Will was confused. Seth only stared at her, just as puzzled, as she flopped herself back onto her divan; he certainly wasn't expecting that to be the reason behind all her objections.

"You won't hurt us," said the youngest Dawn in a quiet tone.

She tilted her head forward and looked at him. "_Joseph_, you _saw_ what I can do— I can easily snap your arm with one hand by accidentally putting too much pressure on it."

"But you won't."

Delilah sighed, pushing herself forward on her seat. "Seth—"

"No. Look, we're part wolf, and when it comes to my pack—"

She groaned. "This isn't _your_ pack, Seth— this isn't even _a_ pack."

"Yes, it is, and you're the Alpha, whether you like it or not. And as the Alpha of this _very small_ pack, _you_ have to make sure the other members in it know how to defend themselves if a war ever breaks out."

"There won't be a war."

"There _might_."

She growled in irritation; her brother just had to pull the Alpha card, didn't he?

"Change into something more comfortable, then meet me here in ten minutes."

Both boys grinned widely, then quickly ran out of the room to do as told. They were clearly eager to start as, less than five minutes later, they both came rushing back in, both in large plain t-shirts and shorts.

Delilah stared at them for a moment, then muttered, "First, I'm giving you two a haircut before you suddenly become girls."

An hour later, the three of them, along with Dopey who wouldn't leave their side, were ready to leave to begin their training.

To say Will was surprised by the way Delilah took them to their training area was an understatement. He was left a tad bit dizzy, but he quickly balanced himself again and stood by his best friend's side, both following Delilah as she led them toward her decently big, yet small cottage in the middle of the woods, on the outskirts of Holmes Chapel. The tiny stone cottage was gorgeous, to say the least.

It clearly belonged there so absolutely that it seemed as if it must have grown from the rock, a natural formation. Honeysuckle climbed up one wall like a lattice, winding all the way up and over the thick wooden shingles. Late summer roses bloomed in a handkerchief-sized garden under the dark, deep-set windows. There was a little path of flat stones that led up to the quaint arched wooden door.

It was very welcoming, and both boys couldn't help but feel warm inside as they approached the young Alpha's home.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she mumbled, not feeling the need to speak louder as she knew they could hear her clearly.

They kept stealing glances her way, and couldn't help but feel curious when they noticed the way her face began to light up the closer she got to the house. It wasn't until Seth felt the familiar presence, did he understand why she was feeling so.

"Remus!" she exclaimed, running forward.

Said man had just opened the arched wooden door and stepped out onto the stone porch, a smile dancing its way onto his lips as he saw the three children; it wasn't the quartet he had gotten used to seeing, but it was almost the same.

"I _heard_ your arrival," he said.

Seth was happy to see the man, but he was confused. If this was Delilah's house, then what was he doing here? Will seemed to be just as puzzled, but he didn't put much thought into it; he was excited to reunite with their former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Prof— Mr— I... really don't know what to call you," Seth said, a small embarrassed blush creeping onto his cheeks.

Will gave him a sheepish smile. "Me neither."

The werewolf and the hybrid chuckled. "Remus is just fine," said the man.

"I see you took up my offer," Delilah said quietly, after sharing a quick, gentle embrace with the man.

He smiled, almost apologetically. "I needed a place to stay, while I looked for another job."

"Must be hard... with the furry issue," Delilah said.

"You have no idea."

Delilah chuckled. "You'd be surprised— are you sure you don't want me to tell Dare— "

"It'll be fine, Delilah."

"But he could help you find something with Muggles in the meantime! You can get a pretty good one, only part-time, and use the rest of your time to look for something... magical."

"It's fine this way— I hope you don't mind, though."

She waved him off. "I told you it was fine. I made the offer, remember?" He chuckled. "Besides, it's also a better way to have a friend of my father's around. I'm sure he'd be upset if he couldn't find one of his only _good_ best pals."

"Speaking of Sirius, have you heard from him?"

Delilah hummed in confirmation, nodding. "Gotten very _few_ letters, but at least they're something."

"Has—"

"I'm lost," Will blurted out.

Seth nodded in agreement. "I've got nothing against you, nor do I mind you being here, Prof— Remus, but what are _you_ doing _here_?"

Delilah rolled her eyes. "I offered him a place to stay," she said in a tone that suggested her statement to be the most obvious thing. Frankly, it was, but apparently not to Seth and Will.

"You're _that_ nice?" Will blurted out in awe, looking at her like a lost puppy.

Delilah actually looked hurt at his words. "You think I'm mean?"

He blushed and quickly shook his head. "No! That's not what I meant! I meant— I was saying— I..."

Delilah gave him a small smile, placing a hand on his shoulder, causing his blush to darken. "It's fine, let it go, kid." She turned back to Lupin. "We're gonna borrow part of the house, if you don't mind."

He shrugged, motioning to the house. "Well, it's yours. You can do as you please," he told her as they went inside. "May I ask what you are going to do?"

Delilah smiled and nodded. "These two snapped a string on me to get me to train them."

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. "Train... as in combat?" Delilah nodded, looking almost miserable. Remus chuckled. "Even your mother didn't want to train younger ones when she was asked to— what did they say to get you to train them?"

She threw a glare at the boys who both only sent her a cheeky smile as they walked behind her and Remus. "They pulled the Alpha card on me," she grumbled.

The four of them finally reached the door which led to the other side of the house. Delilah opened it out onto a beautiful garden which was being watered by magical sprinklers. The man and the two boys watched the place in awe before snapping their attention to the girl. They watched as she waved her hand and a small path appeared, leading toward a pair of diagonally grown trees. They separated from each other, straightening like the rest, revealing a small cabin, like those one would store gardening supplies in.

It was a real wonder what Delilah could do with her powers; she literally transformed the cabin, with a flick of her finger, into a large dojo, the part that sent over the garden turning into miniature versions of greenhouses that looked very much like the ones at Hogwarts.

After Remus left them to their training, going off to make some food for them all, Delilah found herself standing inside the very sparse dojo, in front of the boys. They stood in the center of the main room, all three having a cool and collected look on their faces.

"Alright. So, today is the day your training officially begins. We will start off with a sparring program."

"Any rules?" Will asked.

Delilah nodded. "Only basic rules. Rules like gravity. What you must learn is that these rules are no different than the rules of... let's say, a computer system. Some of them can be bent. Others can be broken. Understood?"

The boys nodded.

"When you've mastered enough hand-to-hand combat in your human form, we will proceed to try various ways of meditation."

"Meditation? Why?"

"For particularly shifters and soul shifters, your spirit needs to be calm. At ease. It needs to be well rested and prepared for when it shifts the first time. The first time is always the most painful. The next few times are as well, but if your mind and body are prepared in advance, you can numb the pain throughout your first few transformations. After you get a hang of phasing back and forth, the pain will diminish into nothing but a pinch. Since I don't know when you will phase exactly or what will be your trigger, we will concentrate on combat for now, alright?"

They nodded.

"Alright, Seth? You're up first." Will stepped to the side and sat on the floor, watching the Dawn siblings. Seth stepped forward, in front of Delilah, waiting. She gave him a soft, yet stern look. "Ready?"

Almost hesitant, he nodded. They were about five feet apart, but she could close the distance in an instant. Her advantage; her tactic and his lack of experience, compared to her. His advantage; he was small, compared to her, but almost as agile.

They circled each other. She was strategizing his attack.

Then, she attacked. She came toward him with a flying kick. He had anticipated this and was able to doge her, grab her arm and pin it to her back. She quickly responded by throwing him over her back. He landed on his back.

"Don't analyze my moves to the max. You can do so to try to predict what I'll do, and dodge or counterattack, but you need to use your instincts too," she instructed. "Shifters, whether it be regulars or even werewolves, must mostly rely on instinct because they are always at least eighty percent more right than any calculation."

Seth got onto his feet, then moved to kick her in the face, but she rolled away and landed standing up. He was on her in a second, ready to punch her, though she quickly reacted and kicked him with enough force so that he was pretty far away from her, but not too much as to hurt him severely.

He looked up at her and stared. She hadn't even broken a sweat, and they had been going at each other for two hours. How did she do it?

She then came at him, fist ready to connect with his jaw, though he quickly reacted on instinct, as she told him to, and used one of the moves he remembered seeing her use in the memories she'd shown him of her compelled-self from when she'd fought Proditorem after Brady's demise, catching her fist and twisting it before leaping up and locking her head between his thighs before bringing her down to the ground. He jumped onto his feet, smirking triumphantly down at her, though, just as he was about to turn away, he found himself caught and pinned down onto the ground.

"One of the most important rules, never turn your back on your enemy," she said, a smirk on her face as she let go of him and rolled off of him.

He groaned, standing up.

"Oh, right. Almost forgot; there's one more," she told him, looking up at him as he offered her a hand.

His brows furrowed. _More rules?_ However, he was intrigued; the training session had been painful, but it was amazing.

"Really?" he asked. She nodded. "Then what is it?"

She took his hand, then, in one swift move, she jumped onto her feet, spun around as though she were dancing ballet, and threw him over her shoulder again, where he landed hard on his back on the matted ground.

"Always expect the unexpected."

He looked up at her, mouth hanging open in shock before shutting and curling upward into a pained smile. "You just made that up, didn't you?" he asked as he took hold of the hand she offered and hauled himself from the ground.

She shrugged, giving him a rather mischievous look. "I like having the last laugh." She then turned to Will who had just stood up and walked over to them, and glanced between the two boys. "So... are you two ready for this? Because, after a while, the real moves are gonna show and the whole thing will be on an extreme level— blood will be shed."

"What?!"

"I'm kidding! But seriously, it'll be extreme. Are you ready for that?"

The boys shared a look, both hesitating slightly before looking back at their new Alpha, giving her a firm nod. "We're ready."

Her usually hard eyes softened as they often did when they fell upon people she cared deeply about, as a small smile graced its way onto her lips. "Good." Then she looked at her brother and ruffled his hair. "Well, that was great," she said before turning to Will. "And I have no doubt you'll be just as great, then," she glanced between the two, "in time, you will both be awesome."

The boys beamed at their new leader.

That was how the next few weeks went by. They trained five days a week, sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night; sometimes in the dojo, sometimes in the woods, and they would always come back to her cottage and spend some time with Lupin, whom they had taken to calling Uncle Remus, because that was basically what he had become to them. It was a bit strange and awkward at first, for them all, but, eventually, after Remus bringing them chocolate after each training session, and spending some time with them, eating sweet food to give them energy, and even practicing some magic with him at other times— he was like the uncle Delilah and Seth were sure to consider so if they had grown knowing him their whole life. On weekends, the trio relaxed, either at Daren's house, or Delilah's cottage with Remus.

Throughout those next few weeks, the changes Delilah went through were grand and as clear as rain. She still woke up in the middle of the night, few hours past it, or sometimes didn't sleep at all, but she had become more open. She didn't reveal more of her past to anyone, not even to Seth, who knew what she had gone through before her previous year, but she did her best not to stay hung up on it. Her brother started teaching her how to play the piano— something she learned rather quickly, and she started, a bit shy at first, posing as a muse for Will, whom she had caught drawing her a few times. He'd drawn portraits of her reading, writing, just sitting there with that pensive look on her face— he never imagined what he drew. He simply saw her in the midst of action, and let his hand fly across his blank canvas. She evidently took interest in drawing as well, and he volunteered to teach her; however, it took longer for her to learn. Neither minded, though.

It wasn't till the Dusk of Harry's birthday that, for the first time in forever, Delilah felt like a normal teenage girl felt when she was self-cautiously nervous. She'd been sitting in the lounge that morning, reading a book she'd found in Daren's little library.

She found the title 'The boy who would not grow up' rather curious, so she took it out and found it was a fairytale of a mischievous boy who could fly and never grew up, and spent his never-ending childhood having adventures on a small island named Neverland, as the leader of his gang, the Lost Boys, interacting with Native people and many creatures Muggles would consider mythical, such as mermaids, fairies and such.

Seth and Will had been there with her, playing a board game on the carpeted floor, while Doopey playfully chased Arrow around, Blaze rested on her perch, and Daren sat on his usual armchair, newspaper, and mug of coffee on hand, when Lara suddenly burst in, displaying a dress on the empty coffee table in front of the girl, along with another item that simply made horror wash over Delilah as Lara told her to put it all on.

"You're kidding me, right?" she asked as she stared at the pair of high-heeled shoes placed before.

"Delilah, you're a lady—"

"Ah, ah— I'm a teenager."

"You're a girl nearing the end of her teenag—"

"I'm gonna turn fifteen this year, not twenty."

"Well, in Mexico a girl comes of age when she turns fifteen."

Delilah gave her a disbelieving look. "We're not in Mexico!"

Lara sighed. "Delilah, please. Will you just give it a shot?"

Delilah scoffed. "Yeah, sure, and maybe while I'm at it, I can change from these high tops to even higher high tops," she replied sarcastically. "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Lara rolled her eyes at the young hybrid. "Even if I was, it wouldn't work." Delilah glared at her. "Look, just _try_, okay? Please? Just one try," Lara pleaded, motioning toward the shoes and the dress she had gotten her. "If it's the... _marks_ you're worried about, here."

Delilah grabbed the small vial Lara held out to her, eyeing it with puzzled eyes. "And this is?"

"A potion that will... let's say... camouflage your... _marks_. Ella and Cynthia made it back when they were your age; they tended to get into trouble quite often."

Delilah chuckled curtly, raising an eyebrow curiously at the potion. "No kidding." She then eyed the clothes and shoes for a moment before sighing. "Fine."

She grabbed everything and went to her room where she changed out of her oversized jeans, her black tank top, her long-sleeved knitted, cropped grunge and her combat boots into the strapless, royal blue chiffon dress with the paired up pumps. She brought her hair out of the long braid she had made with it and let it shower down a few inches past her waist. She then grabbed the small vial, opened it and brought it up to her lips hesitating for a second before downing the potion in one sip. She felt the cold liquid flow down her throat in a rush, emitting shudders throughout her entire body before settling a warm feeling within the pit of her stomach. Dropping the empty vial on her bed, she turned and slowly made her way over to her body length mirror, in the corner of her room, hesitating slightly on the side before stepping in front of the looking glass, _admiring_ herself for the first time.

She wasn't bad looking at all; she didn't look much different than that time Fleur and Gabriel Delacour forced her to look at herself in a mirror when she had landed at Beauxbatons, though to say she didn't miss her once jet black hair with light brown highlights would be a lie— she missed it very much, but the changes she had gone through weren't so bad. Her brown hair had taken a slightly darker tone with a reddish tint to it, her once orange-pink morning glory-begonian eyes were still the violet orchidee color they had become the previous year, and they still had those few gray specks in them, though her strangely colored orbs altogether had become a bit darker. Her skin just as pale as when she had come back for her third year at Hogwarts, though she noticed it had gained a new glow to it after she took the potion Lara gave her, but that wasn't what left her stunned. No. It was the fact that her fourteen-year-old scarred body was _scar-free_.

"The effects are only temporary." Delilah looked away from her reflection and looked up at Lara, through the mirror, standing at her doorway. "You'd have to take it once every three days to keep your skin scar-free."

Delilah was silent for a moment as she returned her gaze toward her own reflection, awe clear in her eyes. "I can do that," she said softly.

Lara smiled and stepped forward, entering the room and walking up behind Delilah. "I got something else for you."

Delilah furrowed her brows slightly in curiosity but said nothing as Lara stood right behind her and brought what seemed like a golden chain over the girl's head. She stood there, immobile, following Lara every movement, only looking away when the woman's arms dropped to her sides and looked at her with a smile. Delilah looked down and found a golden necklace hanging from her neck, the letter 'D' falling just above the valley separating her breasts. It created a soft contrast as it laid atop the fabric of the dress that covered her upper body.

"'D' for Delilah," Lara said softly, resting her hands on Delilah's nude shoulders. "I know you don't like being compared to your mother and such, but you need to know that when you are, it's not a bad thing. No one does it to anger you. It's just a small comparison— you remind people of her, but no one sees you as Ella, Dels. You are Delilah Dawn. Sure, with a little bit of Ella, but you are you, and you should never think otherwise just because people say you remind them of her."

Delilah did not respond.

"You are as beautiful as she was, _but_," Lara smiled. "You are more beautiful as yourself."

Delilah returned the smile with a small one of her own. "Thank you," she whispered.

Lara's smile turned into a grin as she turned the girl around and grabbed her hand. "Come on," she said, pulling her toward the door.

"Why are we going downstairs?" Delilah asked, suddenly panicked.

"To show the others, silly," Lara giggled girlishly. "And to begin your dancing lessons."

Unfortunately for Delilah, by the time she grasped what Lara had said, they were already standing in the lounge. Delilah tried to run, but she didn't even make it a foot away from where Lara had dragged her due to the high-heeled shoes she was wearing; she nearly fell. Lara cleared her throat to gain everyone's attention.

"Gentlemen, I present to you: Miss Delilah Dawn!"

Delilah never thought her face could get as heated as it did, as she stood frozen when all four pairs of eyes fell upon her, excluding thus of their familiars. If it hadn't been for her reddening face, she would've passed for a live-looking statue.

"Marvelous, isn't she?" Lara exclaimed herself. "Doesn't she look wonderful? Now, she will learn to dance. Right, Daren?"

Daren was shocked, to say the least. He only snapped out of his trance-like state when he heard his nephew mutter, "Is she even breathing?"

Sure enough, though Delilah was still standing there, unmoving, she had stopped breathing. Lara saw the concerned look on her cousin's face and turned to look at Delilah, her eyes widening in panic when she realized the young girl wasn't breathing.

_Oh, my Goddess_— Lara sighed, shaking her head— _leave it to Delilah to stop breathing out of nervousness_.

Lara grabbed Delilah's face and slapped her cheek lightly, repeatedly, until the girl blinked. "Breathe, Dels, you're fine."

Will seemed to snap out of his daze as well, and blinked, realizing what had just happened to his best friend's sister. "Did she just stop breathing because she was nervous?" he asked in slight disbelief.

Seth nodded. "And to think she's our Alpha," he snorted, though he was clearly just as awed at his sister's beauty.

Delilah blinked owlishly for a moment before looking at Lara. "I stopped breathing, didn't I?"

Lara nodded, letting go of the girl's face. "Yup, you have some serious issues, but that will be looked into later."

"Later as in never?"

"Exactly. Right now, you will be learning how to dance."

She blinked. "... dance," Delilah said slowly.

Lara gave her a weird look. "Yes. You know— when you move rhythmically to music, typically following a set—"

"I know what dancing is!" Delilah cut her off. She sighed. "Why should I have to learn it? I'm an Alpha, not a dancer."

"You're learning it," Seth said, getting onto his feet. "They made me go through that torture when I was nine, so you gotta do it."

Lara rolled her eyes at the boy. "It wasn't torture."

Seth glared at her. "You made me wear heels— I'm a boy, and you made me wear heels," he grunted, grimacing at the memory, while Will stood behind him, trying hard not to laugh.

Lara shrugged. "Not my fault you were so short."

"I'm not short," Seth uttered deffensively. "You're just freakishly tall."

Lara rolled her eyes at him before she turned her attention back to Delilah and grabbed her again and dragged her to the middle of the lounge, magically moving aside, with a flick of her hand, every item or small piece of furniture standing in the way.

"So, now— as I said before— you will learn how to dance for a ball," she said as she let go of the girl and went to pull Daren over to where his niece stood rather puzzled.

"How do you dance on a ball?"

Seth and Will snickered at her oblivion, though, Daren, not having heard her confusion, frowned slightly in embarrassment. "I'm not very good at it..."

But Lara dismissed his protest and pulled him to stand before the tall teenage hybrid. Sighing to himself, Daren stepped forward and awkwardly positioned himself to dance with her.

Lara counted off them into the waltz and stepped back to watch. "And... one, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, thr—" She grimaced and shook her head when she saw how wrong they were doing it. "No, no, Dels— you're doing it wrong."

Delilah grumbled. "I don't even know what I'm doing— and you're making me do this stuff on heels."

"_Dance_," Lara corrected.

"Whatever!"

"And you have to wear heels at a ball," Lara continued.

"How in Jesus' birthplace does one dance _on a ball_?!" Delilah exclaimed.

Lara opened her mouth to reply, then shut it, and repeated the motion multiple times until she finally understood the girl's confusion.

She giggled, and Delilah glared at her. "It's not funny," she grumbled, stepping away from her uncle and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You're right, it's not," Lara replied, trying to put on a straight face, but she couldn't help it. She laughed, Seth and Will laughing along, while Daren, for some reason, remained silent, looking Delilah over, brows furrowed as he seemed to be in deep thought, though no one noticed.

Irritated, Delilah turned to leave, though she tripped over her heels, falling over. Fortunately for her, Will stepped toward her just in time to catch her.

She grunted. "Thanks," she muttered.

Blushing slightly, he nodded, having stopped laughing long ago.

"Delilah, sweetie," Lara said, looking at the girl with a kind smile. "A ball is a formal social gathering for dancing." Delilah looked at her, blinking owlishly, for a moment, then blushed, not even putting up a struggle anymore when Lara gently pushed her back toward Daren.

"Now, don't lead. Let him."

Nodding slowly, Delilah turned back to her uncle, almost shyly, and waited for him to take the first step. He took a step forward toward her and slowly reached out his hand, offering it to her. Taking a deep breath, she took it and let him pull her back into a dancing position as Lara went to their radio, turned it on and let the music play.

The dance started out a bit awkward, mostly for Delilah as she wasn't one to get too close to people physically. Eventually, as the dance went on, Delilah got to relax and even smile and giggle slightly when Daren would twirl her with once hand.

After a moment, they settled with only waltzing around the lounge, without the single-handed twirls. Delilah frowned when she noticed he looked somewhat nervous.

"What is it?" she asked as they swayed back and forth.

He gave her a small smile and shook his head. "Nothing." She opened her mouth to reply, but he quickly cut her off before she could say anything, and said, "That dress is really beautiful."

She blinked, blushing shyly at the compliment. "Do you think so?" she asked in a small voice.

Daren stared at her for a moment before, shaking his head slightly, glancing at the wall; if he stared any longer, he would think he was looking at his sister and would probably make the mistake of calling her so instead of Delilah.

"Yes. I mean it was nice on the hanger, but it looks even better on you. You... you should wear it."

Delilah raised an eyebrow at him, slightly confused. "I am wearing it."

Daren looked back at her, staring at her for a moment again, and, for the first time, he didn't see his sister anymore. For the first time since he met Delilah, he saw the changes that differentiated her from either of his sisters. For the first time, he truly saw his niece— he saw Delilah. Not Ella-Grace. Not Cynthia-Rose.

Just Delilah.

He blinked, realizing what had been her reply, then played back what he had said before, mentally face-palming himself for stating the obvious. "Oh, right, of course, of course, you are. I'm just trying to give you a... a..."

"Compliment?" Delilah offered softly.

Daren chuckled, nodding. "Of course, yes."

She smiled as they went back to swirling into the dance, gaining more grace that would've been believed to be impossible for Delilah, considering how she'd shown herself to walk with heels. Lara and the boys watched them, awed as they glided around the room, gradually slowing their dancing as the music thankfully began to near the end.

"I'm feeling a little dizzy," Delilah mumbled.

"Kind of light headed?" Daren asked softly.

She gave a short nod. "Yeah."

Daren chuckled. "Me too. Probably from the spinning," he said as they slowed into a stop. "Maybe we should stop."

Delilah raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "Has anyone ever told you, you state what's passed far too much?"

Daren gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"

She motioned between them. "You offered to stop, but we already had."

Daren chuckled again, realizing she was right. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "Well, you won't be needing many more lessons; you're a pro at this. Just a little practice now and then, and you're good."

Delilah smiled. "Thank you." She let out a small breath, looking around at the others. "I don't know about you guys, but all this stuff made me sleepy. I'm turning in."

Delilah quit struggling throughout the transition Lara made her undergo as the days went by. She was visibly still uneasy about walking around in newer, fitted clothes, but she eventually got used to it as well as taking the scar-freeing potion every third day.

On the first day of the second week of August, Delilah had come to an agreement with Hermione and Ron to go over to the Weasleys the week after and stay there until a day after the Quidditch World Cup. By the end of that week, however, she was packed already and planned to go back to her cottage; Remus had taken off and was staying at a hotel in town as he was still looking for a job, so the house was uninhabited.

"I'm off to my place."

"When will you get back?"

"I told you already, Seth. I'll be there for a few days; then I'll be going to the Weasleys, where I'll be staying a while longer till the day after the Cup. I'll see you then, alright?"

Seth sighed and nodded. "Bring some souvenirs from the game."

Delilah rolled her eyes. "You're gonna be there too, you idiot," she said, playfully flicking his head.

He shrugged. "Just wanted to say it— they say it a lot in movies."

Will gave his friend a weird look. "No, they don't."

"Well, they say it somewhere."

"Okay, I have no idea who 'they' are, but I really don't care, so I'm leaving now. Take care, you two, and stay out of trouble," said Delilah before flashing herself out of the household.


	5. To the Burrow

**To the Burrow**

By twelve o'clock that Sunday, the atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day.

Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't eating anything at all; her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry.

"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," Uncle Vernon snarled at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all."

Harry said nothing.

"They'll be driving, of course?" Uncle Vernon barked across the table.

"Er..." said Harry.

He hadn't thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick him up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today?

"I think so," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari.

Harry spent most of the afternoon in his bedroom; he couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry went back downstairs and into the living room.

Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Harry couldn't take the tension; he left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, his eyes on his watch and his heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves. But five o'clock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.

"They're late!" he snarled at Harry.

"I know," said Harry. "Maybe— er— the traffic's bad, or something."

Ten past five... then a quarter past five... Harry was starting to feel anxious himself now. At half past, he heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia conversing in terse mutters in the living room.

"No consideration at all."

"We might've had an engagement."

"Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late."

"Well, they most certainly won't be," said Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. "They'll take the boy and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d— AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!"

Harry jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified.

"What happened?" said Harry. "What's the matter?"

But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. Harry hurried into the living room. Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys' boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it.

"What is it?" gasped Aunt Petunia, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. "What is it, Vernon?"

But they were left in doubt barely a second longer. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace.

"Ouch! Fred, no— go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake— tell George not to— OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron—"

"Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad— maybe he'll be able to let us out—"

There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire. "Harry? Harry, can you hear us?"

The Dursleys rounded on Harry like a pair of angry wolverines.

"What is this?" growled Uncle Vernon. "What's going on?"

"They— they've tried to get here by Floo powder," said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. "They can travel by fire— only you've blocked the fireplace— hang on—" He approached the fireplace and called through the boards. "Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?"

The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney-piece said, "Shh!"

"Mr. Weasley, it's Harry... the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there."

"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley's voice. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained.

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that... Let's think... ouch, Ron!"

Ron's voice now joined the others'. "What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?"

"Oh no, Ron," came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall.

"Boys, boys..." said Mr. Weasley vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do... Yes... only way... Stand back, Harry."

Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward.

"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fire. "What exactly are you going to—"

BANG.

The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair, including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle.

"That's better," panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. "Ah— you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!"

Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years.

"Er— yes— sorry about that," said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see— just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking— but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

Harry was ready to bet that the Dursleys hadn't understood a single word of this. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon.

"Hello, Harry!" said Mr. Weasley brightly. "Got your trunk ready?"

"It's upstairs," said Harry, grinning back.

"We'll get it," said Fred at once. Winking at Harry, he and George left the room. They knew where Harry's bedroom was, having once rescued him from it in the dead of night. Harry suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from Harry.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. "Very— erm— very nice place you've got here."

As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything.

Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.

"They run off eckeltricity, do they?" he said knowledgeably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."

Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack.

Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Harry could hear the clunk of his trunk on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley.

"Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry?" said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation.

"Yep," said Harry, "that's Dudley."

He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. Indeed, from the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry was quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought he was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sympathy rather than fear.

"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" he said kindly.

Dudley whimpered. Harry saw his hands tighten still harder over his massive backside.

Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins.

"Ah, right," said Mr. Weasley. "Better get cracking then."

He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry saw the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one.

"Incendio!" said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him.

Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever.

"Off you go then, Fred," said Mr. Weasley.

"Coming," said Fred. "Oh no— hang on—"

A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction— big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire, saying "the Burrow!" Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished.

"Right then, George," said Mr. Weasley, "you and the trunk."

Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried "the Burrow!" and vanished too.

"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley.

"See you," said Ron brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.

Now Harry and Mr. Weasley alone remained.

"Well... bye then," Harry said to the Dursleys.

They didn't say anything at all. Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement.

"Harry said goodbye to you," he said. "Didn't you hear him?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. "Honestly, I don't care."

Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry's shoulder.

"You aren't going to see your nephew till next summer," he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. "Surely you're going to say goodbye?"

Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully,

"Goodbye, then."

"See you," said Harry, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like a warm breath. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and Aunt Petunia started to scream.

Harry wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, Harry realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue— and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him.

Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard.

"Not to worry, I can sort him out!" he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley.

"No, really!" said Mr. Weasley desperately. "It's a simple process it was the toffee— my son Fred— real practical joker— but it's only an Engorgement Charm— at least, I think it is— please, I can correct it—"

But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic-stricken; Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out; Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue; and Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace.

"Now really!" said Mr. Weasley angrily, brandishing his wand. "I'm trying to help!"

Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament.

"Harry, go! Just go!" Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. "I'll sort this out!"

Harry didn't want to miss the fun, but Uncle Vernon's second ornament narrowly missed his left ear, and on balance, he thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. He stepped into the fire, looking over his shoulder as he said "the Burrow!"

His last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a third ornament out of Uncle Vernon's hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley's tongue lolling around like a great slimy python. But next moment Harry had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys' living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames.

Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys' kitchen fire.

"Did he eat it?" said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.

"Yeah," said Harry, straightening up. "What was it?"

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," said Fred brightly. "George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer..."

The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.

"How're you doing, Harry?" said the nearer of the two.

The young man grinned at him, holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.

Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was— there was no other word for it— cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.

Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him.

"That wasn't funny Fred!" he shouted. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," said Fred, with another evil grin. "I just dropped it... it was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

"You dropped it on purpose!" roared Mr. Weasley. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet—"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.

"It isn't funny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons—"

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" said Fred indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," said George. "Isn't he, Harry?"

"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," said Harry earnestly.

"That's not the point!" raged Mr. Weasley. "You wait until I tell your mother—"

"Tell me what?" said a voice behind them.

Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.

"Oh hello, Harry, dear," she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. "Tell me what, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry's and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back. He got curious for a moment when he noticed Ginny glance behind him, a spark of disappointment glinting in her brown eyes when she didn't find what she was looking for. Her smile, as kind as her mother's, did not falter, however.

"Tell me what, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," mumbled Mr. Weasley, "Fred and George just— but I've had words with them—"

"What have they done this time?" said Mrs. Weasley. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—"

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" said Hermione from the doorway.

"He knows where he's sleeping," said Ron, "in my room, he slept there last—"

"We can all go," said Hermione pointedly.

"Oh," said Ron, cottoning on. "Right. You're right; Deli'll be here soon anyway." Ginny seemed to perk up at the mentioning of the latter. "Might as well get comfortable while we wait for her."

"Yeah, we'll come too," said George.

"You stay where you are!" snarled Mrs. Weasley.

Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and they, Hermione and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.

After being snapped at by Percy, the four of them continued their way up to Ron's room as they chatted about, trying to keep their voices at an adequate level enough so they weren't too loud, but could hear each other above the shouts from the kitchen below that echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.

The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive, and to Delilah in Holmes Chapel. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.

"Shut up, Pig," said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room," he told Harry. "Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

"Er— why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked.

"Because he's being stupid," said Ginny, "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," said Ron sarcastically. "Ginny named him," he explained to Harry. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."

Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.

"Where's Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione now.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she said. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.

"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. _According to Mr. Crouch... as I was saying to Mr. Crouch... Mr. Crouch is of the opinion... Mr. Crouch was telling me..._ They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

"Have you had a good summer, Harry?" said Hermione. "Did you get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot, " said Harry. "They saved my life, those cakes."

"Have you got anything from Deli?"

Harry shook his head. "Haven't gotten any letters lately, but I got a small case for my glasses, for my birthday, and a small handkerchief to clean them."

"About time you got one too," said Hermione with a teasing edge to her tone.

"What about you?"

"Just one letter last week to say she'd be coming today. Didn't say what time exactly, but she said she'd be here before dinner," Hermione replied.

"And have you heard from—" Ron began, but at a look from Hermione, he fell silent.

Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Apart from Delilah and himself, Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about him as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.

"I think they've stopped arguing," said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. "Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," said Ron.

The four of them left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she said when they came in. "There's just not room for eleven people—"

"Twelve people," Ginny corrected. "Delilah will probably be here soon."

"Right, right." Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Well, could you two girls take the plates outside? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two," she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. "Those two!" she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and Harry knew she meant Fred and George. "I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can..."

Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.

"It's not as though they haven't got brains," she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, "but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office."

Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.

"I don't know where we went wrong with them," said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. "It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to— OH, NOT AGAIN!"

She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.

"One of their fake wands again!" she shouted. "How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?"

She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.

"C'mon," Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, "let's go and help Bill and Charlie."

They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.

They had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle-brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it.

Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the others out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.

Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?!" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," said Bill, grinning. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut.

Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

"Well, that was quite a show," a familiar voice rang through the garden, making everyone stop their doing at once.

The voice had that usual softness to it, however, with an edge of authoritative strength in it. With an edge of pride, beauty, as well as an unintentional seductiveness, it soared through the air like a nightingale singing its nightly rose symphonies.

They all looked behind Harry and Ron, both who turned as well to see the source of the voice, and all smiled when they caught full sight of the young British-American witchy hybrid. There she stood, a few feet away, a warm and slightly amused smile on her face as she watched them, only to be looked at in return, her changes regarded in awe. Calm and composed, had her friends noticed she appeared to have remained, though they also noticed how more sure of herself she had visibly become. Though she always hid it, they knew she had always felt a little insecure and self-cautious, even though it had always seemed the opposite.

Now, rather than hiding underneath the largest clothes anyone could ever be seen wearing, she stood there tall and head held high in a pair of washed-out jean trousers that, although looked to still be a bit larger than her actual size, were more fit than the ones they had seen her wear in the past. Along with it, she wore a black tank and a cropped denim jacket that had its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Apart from her face and hands, this was probably the most skin they had ever seen her reveal— her neck, collarbone, and her forearms. In addition to her beauty revelation, her dark hair was pulled back, though not in her usual braid, nor ponytail usually tied down near the nape of her neck. No. It was tied _up_ into a neat bun, only a few rebellious curls falling to the sides of her face. She looked good. A bit sickly pale, possibly a bit slimmer than the last time they had seen her, and clearly having passed a few sleepless nights, but she looked good all the same, her warm smile compensating that.

The youngest Weasley was first to react.

"Deli!"

The young redheaded girl jumped gleefully before running to the brunette and throwing her arms around her as soon as she reached her. The older witch chuckled under her breath and returned the embrace lightly.

"Hey, little red. It's nice to see you again."

Hermione was next, hugging the girl fiercely, but then looking at her with stern eyes once she pulled away. "What is wrong with you?! First, we talk almost every day, then, suddenly, you stop calling at all, only answering the phone once when I called you _two_ weeks ago, then you go MIA on me again, only to respond to _one_ letter Ron and I sent you last week."

Delilah regarded the girl with a sheepish smile as she rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah... sorry about that. I was... a little _out of it_ at first, but then I got really _busy_," she told her. She made sure to emphasize a few words, hinting her that most of it had to do with her being what she was.

Hermione blinked, understanding what she meant. But then she glared. "That's no excuse! We're your best friends! You should at least let us know what's going on instead of going missing in action."

Delilah chuckled and shook her head. "Sorry."

Then, before anything could be added, the twins practically shoved their way to her.

"Lee-Lee!" they exclaimed, sandwiching her between them.

Delilah sighed, but smiled all the same, trying to fight back a grimace as they almost squeezed the breathing life out of her; they were strong for young regular wizards who didn't have another type of supernatural in their blood that would give them an enhanced strength.

"You guys are still awesome, but what would be more awesome right now would be breathing."

They laughed and let her go, stepping back as Ron stepped forward and embraced her too.

"Have you any idea what I've had to endure with Hermione being here? It's enough with Fred and George pulling pranks on everyone, now she's teamed up with Ginny to make my life miser—" Delilah laughed when Hermione glared at Ron and hit him upside the head. "Ow! I mean, I really missed you too, Deli."

Delilah laughed lightly and patted him on the shoulder when he pulled out of the embrace. "I missed you too, Ron," she said, waving at Bill and Charlie who stood by the tables, smiling warmly and waving back.

She stepped toward the two eldest and waved before turning to the three that completed her golden quartet. "So, what have I missed?"

By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Delilah, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad. Delilah wasn't eating much, as usual, but she remained silent all the same and ate quietly.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday," Percy was saying pompously. "That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman—"

"I like Ludo," said Mr. Weasley mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: his brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble— a lawnmower with unnatural powers— I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh, Bagman's likable enough, of course," said Percy dismissively, "but how he ever got to be Head of Department... when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," said Mr. Weasley, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now— though must say, if it were someone in my department, I'd be worried..."

"Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right," said Percy. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth... but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her— but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However—" Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine. "— we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. "You know the one I'm talking about, Father." He raised his voice slightly. "The top-secret one."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Delilah, Harry, and Hermione, "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."

In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.

"... with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?"

"Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure," said Bill patiently.

"And your hair's getting silly, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. "I wish you'd let me give it a trim..."

Delilah bit back a laugh. "I think it looks rather great," she said softly, causing both Bill and Mrs. Weasley to look up at her in surprise. "You know, if you ever went to America looking like that, you'd fit in rather easily."

Bill grinned, while Mrs. Weasley looked a tad bit disappointed that someone else agreed with her son.

"I like it too," said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. "You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's..."

Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

"It's got to be Ireland," said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. "They flattened Peru in the semifinals."

"Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though," said Fred.

When name reached her ears, Delilah frowned slightly. Why did the name sound familiar?

_She opened her eyes and squealed, but then started panicking when she saw she was in a room she did not recognize. A bedroom more precisely. After a few confused seconds of looking around, a door opened and a... shirtless guy walked in. They looked at each other and screamed. Delilah was completely freaking out that she threw herself onto the floor and hid under the bed that was right in the middle of this gigantic room._

_"Who're you and vat 're you doing 'ere?" he asked._

_"Can you put on more clothes before I answer any of whatever you just said?" she pleaded. "Because, hiding under a bed is really not all that comfortable."_

_He sighed. "I'm done," he said._

_Delilah hesitated a bit but then finally got out of her uncomfortable hiding spot. The boy standing before her was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey, yet he had quite an innocent look on his face, making it evident that he was probably around sixteen or seventeen years old._

_Once he had a better sight of Delilah, his eyes widened. He cleared his throat and grabbed her hand. "I am Viktor Krum," he said, planting a small kiss on it, making Delilah slightly blush._

_She smiled, relieved that he wasn't a creeper. "Delilah Hawkins," she said._

_He smiled back then smirked. "So vat exactly vere you doing 'ere in my bedroom?"_

_Her blush darkened as she put her hands in the pockets of her jeans and giving him a sheepish smile. "I was learning how to Apparate... but I guess I put in a little bit too much of a Deliberation."_

Delilah blinked owlishly, feeling a faint blush creep onto her cheeks. _Oh..._

"Delilah, are you alright?"

She blinked again and turned to see Hermione looking at her with worried eyes.

"You've gone red— wait, are you blushing?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Delilah muttered, turning toward her plate and scarfing down her food in a way she had never done before. When Hermione's attention had strayed, she calmed down and resumed eating normally... well, what's considered normal for _her_.

"Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven," said Charlie shortly. "I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," said Charlie gloomily.

"Shocking performance, actually. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg," Delilah added.

The boys stopped eating and stared at her in shock.

"What? I've been a Gryffindor Chaser for two years. That, and I've lived with _one_ girl and _three_ boys over the summer; I'm not exactly ignorant when it comes to Quidditch."

"Three boys?" Hermione and Harry repeated.

Delilah nodded. "Daren, Seth, and Will."

"Who the bloody hell is Will?" Ron blurted.

"Ronald, watch your tongue," Mrs. Weasley scolded before returning to her arguments with Bill about his looks.

_My Goddess, she isn't done with that yet?_

"Will's my brother's best friend. Apparently, the little guy's been to Hogwarts for the same amount of time as Seth, and has been practically glued to his side."

"Never seen him," said Fred.

"Never even heard of him," George added.

"William Eberhardt?"

Fred and George thought for a moment, then a glint of recognition flashed through their eyes at the same time as they shared a mischievous grin.

"Ah, Sir William."

Delilah raised an eyebrow. "So you do know him."

"Yeah, he hates it when we call him Sir William."

Delilah groaned. "Please tell me you two didn't pull a prank on him."

"... well, it wasn't meant for him," said Fred.

"He was just there at the wrong time," said George.

"Or rather the right time for the prank—"

"But the wrong time for him."

Delilah groaned, shaking her head. "I can't believe you two." She sighed. "I'll just hope you don't pull a prank on a baby, next time."

"Already have."

"What?"

Ron groaned while Ginny and the twins laughed.

Delilah merely chuckled, shaking her head once again, "I don't want to know."

Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.

Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Delilah and Harry, "So— have you heard from Sirius lately?"

Hermione looked around, listening closely.

"A few times," Delilah admitted. "I haven't checked my letters recently, so I don't know if he sent me any more, though I doubt it. He'd blow his cover if he sent so many."

"Yeah," said Harry softly. "He sent me some, twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while we're here."

He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Delilah, Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him... but he really didn't want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.

"Look at the time," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you 'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, Delilah, my dear, if you two leave your school lists out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley."

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you really don't have to, I can—"

"Nonsense, dears," Mrs. Weasley cut the young witch off with a wave. "I really don't mind. I'm getting everyone else's anyway. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time."

"Wow— hope it does this time!" said Harry enthusiastically.

Delilah nodded in agreement. "That'd be awesome."

"Well, I certainly don't," said Percy sanctimoniously. "I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I were away from work for five days."

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"

"It was," Fred whispered to Harry and Delilah as they got up from the table. "We sent it."


	6. To the Portkey

**To the Portkey**

"Delilah, come on. It's time to wake up."

Not even a second later, her eyes fluttered open. They were filled with exhaustion, but that did not make her go back to sleep. She looked up at the bushy haired brunette and nodded wordlessly. Hermione pursed her lips into a frown as she watched the young hybrid stand and walk over to her bag to grab her clothes.

"You haven't slept at all, have you?"

It was just the two of them in the room, as Ginny had left to go to the bathroom.

Delilah did not reply.

"Deli..."

She sighed. "I haven't," Delilah admitted.

"And why not?"

Delilah brought out a plastic bag that contained her clothes; it was Lara's idea— separate each ensemble in plastic bags. That way, she's got ready what she's going to wear. She brought the attire out of the bag and simply stared at it for a moment.

"I've been having these dreams..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You're not dreaming of You-Know-Who, are you? I thought those stopped in—"

"No, I've managed to keep him out of my head since the end of Second Year."

"Then, what..."

Delilah's jaw clenched slightly as she frowned. "That's the thing. I don't know. One moment, I'm in front of someone who's oddly familiar, then, the next, I'm in front of myself, but it's not me." She sighed. "I don't know, and I hate it. I usually know things..."

Hermione gave her a small smile and rubbed her arm comfortingly. "Hey, it's alright. We'll figure it out."

Delilah returned the smile. "Thanks, 'Mione." She paused. "Hey, can you cut my hair a little? I did it last week, but it wasn't very good."

"How much did you cut it last week?"

"Till my shoulders."

"What?! But it's— your waist— how—"

"Witchy hybrid, remember?"

"Right..."

After getting her hair cut, so it fell just a few inches past her shoulders rather than down to her waist, Delilah tied it up and back into a slightly messy bun before grabbing her clothes. Swiftly, she slipped on a black tank top, followed a pair of black trousers and khaki green sneakers. She then pulled a khaki green bardort that matched with her shoes over her tank top. The bardort came with an elasticated waist and shoulders, which left her shoulders bare, so the black straps of her tank top were visible and tailored with flared sleeves and crinkled fabric finish for a bohemian look.

Since she was quick to get dressed, she was the first ready to go downstairs. However, she remained a few more minutes to put another outfit apart, along with another for Hermione and Ginny, in which they would change in later at the World Cup. Putting all three attires into Delilah's charmed maroon pouch, the hybrid told the witch she would see her when she was done, then grabbed her black cashmere coat and headed downstairs into the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as Delilah, along with the boys who followed right behind, entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.

Delilah chuckled; that man was really crazy about the Muggle world.

"What d'you think?" he asked Delilah and Harry anxiously. "We're supposed to go incognito— do I look like a Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Delilah, smiling.

Harry nodded, coming to stand beside her. "Very much so."

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. "So they can have a bit of a lie-in."

Harry knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult.

"It is."

Harry blinked and looked over at Delilah quizzically. "What?"

"Apparating. It's hard."

He fought back a smile. "Were you just reading my mind?"

She gave him a cheeky smile and shook her head. "Nope. Just your face. That, and I just so happen to know you very well, _Harold_."

Harry chuckled at that as the both of them turned their attention back to the Weasleys.

"So they're still in bed?" said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. "Why can't we Apparate too?"

_No_, Delilah thought. She would much rather instant-transmission her way there, but she did not know where the place was. Plus, she had only ever done it with two people, not more than that at the same time, and only Mr. Weasley happened to know where it was, apart from the Bill, Charlie, and Percy. She would've read his mind like she had done with Seth when they first met and she took him to Daren, but now that she could control the mind reading, she did not want to because she knew it would be rude to invade someone's mind even if it's just to look for a destination.

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "And where have those girls got to?"

"They're still upstairs," Delilah said softly. Soon after she said so, Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen, and they heard her climbing the stairs.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

_Not me_, Delilah thought, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

Delilah bit her lip, while everyone else around the table except Harry winced.

"Er— splinched?" said Harry.

"They left half of themselves behind," said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. "So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind..."

"Were they okay?" Harry asked, startled.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms- slower, but safer."

"But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?"

"Charlie had to take the test twice," said Fred, grinning. "He failed the first time. Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?"

Delilah chuckled. She remembered how hard Apparating was. She had failed to do it many times, but by the time she had it, she'd ended up in Bulgaria, then the next time in France.

She then quickly cleared her throat to hide the cough that was just about to come out. Ron, who sat not far from her, frowned as he noticed that. He was about to ask about it but was cut off by his mother.

"Yes, well, he passed the second time," said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers.

"Percy only passed two weeks ago," said George. "He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can."

There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione, and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy. Delilah rolled her eyes at the girls; when they're alone, they're wide awake and suffocating her with their worry, but now with everyone else, they let their exhaustion get to them.

_Great timing_, she thought sarcastically.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

"We've got a bit of a walk," said Mr. Weasley.

"Walk?" said Harry. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup..."

"George!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and they all jumped.

"What?" said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, "Accio!"

Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

Delilah clamped over her mouth to hide her smile and keep herself from laughing.

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.

"Accio! Accio! Accio!" she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the Toffees away.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," said Mrs. Weasley, "and behave yourselves," she called after the twins' retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer.

"I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday," Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Delilah, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

It was chilly, and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley.

"So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" he asked.

"It's been a massive organizational problem," sighed Mr. Weasley before explaining to him why wizards Apparate or use Portkeys. "I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys."

Hearing her friend's question, Delilah looked back at him and smiled at his curiosity before giving him an answer herself. "They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to.

Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement before adding, "There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed." He pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" said Harry curiously.

"Well, they can be anything," said Mr. Weasley. "Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them... stuff they'll just think is litter..."

By the time they all trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, and the twins had calmed down, the silence was broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Delilah kept cringing as she fought to keep herself from coughing. Harry's hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.

They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest, and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.

"Whew," panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. "Well, we've made good time- we've got ten minutes."

Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

"Now we just need the Portkey," said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big... Come on..."

They spread out, searching. As they did so, Fred and George began questioning Delilah about her enhanced strength and other abilities. At one point, they both tried to jump onto her back, rucksacks and all. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it."

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Guys, get off," Delilah muttered. She did not make move to shove them off as she knew she would end up severely hurting them if she did so.

"Nah, we're good." Delilah groaned.

"Amos!" said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.

Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

"This is Amos Diggory, everyone," said Mr. Weasley. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

Before greetings could proceed, Fred and George jumped off Delilah's back at that moment, catching her by surprise. In result to that, she stumbled forward, straight into Diggory's son. By the slightly cold looks that had settled upon the twins' faces, it had been clearly unintentional, but it was too late to say so; Delilah was already in the Hufflepuff's arms.

Registering what had just happened, Delilah blinked owlishly before looking up, ducking her head slightly. "Sorry... hi."

"Hi," said Cedric, looking down at her in daze.

"Hi," she found herself repeating, looking away from him in slight embarrassment.

"Hi," he repeated as well, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

She looked back up and felt her brows furrow slightly as she looked at him closely. He was tall and quite handsome with chiseled features, pale skin, rosy cheeks, dark brownish bronze hair, and bright gray eyes. He looked familiar, she decided.

_"Expelliarmus." George's wand shot over to her. She caught it and smiled._

_"Good job, Miss Hawkins," Lockhart said smiling, "Well done, well done. Another twenty points to Gryffindor... and five more for Mr. Weasley's effort. Who else wants to give it a try?" She looked around to the room, but everyone was backing away. "How about Mr. Diggory?"_

_Delilah looked at Lockhart questioningly. _ **_Who's Diggory?_**

_She threw George his wand and watched as a Hufflepuff boy took his place. He seemed to be about the twins' age, maybe a year older. He was tall and quite handsome with chiseled features, pale skin, rosy cheeks, dark bronze... ish hair, and bright grey eyes. He stepped forward and smiled shyly at her, making her smile softly back at him. She never thought she could make people feel shy around her._

_They stepped closer, still facing each other and bowed. They raised their wands like swords in front of them then put them down to their side, turning their backs to each other. Delilah walked five steps then turned back around and held her wand out towards her opponent._

_"Three― two―"_

_"Good luck," the Hufflepuff said with a kind smile. At least he wasn't taunting or mischievous like Fred and George. Delilah smiled at him and nodded, signaling that she wished him good luck as well._

_"One― go!"_

"I know you," she blurted out, snapping him out of his daze. "We dueled against each other two years ago at Lockhart's dueling club."

Cedric rosy cheeks flushed darker. "Yeah— I-I didn't think you would remember me."

Delilah smiled, and he smiled back, though they were snapped back to the present by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

Pulling away from each other, Cedric looked at the others and nodded with a small smile. "Hi."

Everybody greeted him back except Fred, George, and Harry, who merely nodded. The twins had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year; Harry just didn't like the way the older boy had had his arms wrapped around Delilah just a moment ago.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad," said Mr. Weasley. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still... not complaining... Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons— and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy..." Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Delilah, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's— and Harry, another friend— and Delilah, another friend—"

"Merlin's beard," said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. "Harry? Delilah? Delilah Hawkins and Harry Potter?"

"Er— yeah," said Harry.

"Delilah Dawn," the girl corrected with a slightly uneasy smile playing on her lips. "And... yeah."

Harry and Delilah were used to people looking curiously at them when they met them, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on Harry's forehead and the one hidden underneath Delilah's hair on the side of her neck, but it always made them feel uncomfortable.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," said Amos Diggory. "Told us all about that dueling club from two years ago— you'd surely make a great Auror if you moved as fast as he said you did. Told us about playing against you too, Harry, last year... I said to him, I said— Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will... You beat Harry Potter!"

Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Delilah placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder; he had really thought himself down when that had happened the previous year, and had blamed himself for letting the team down. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you... it was an accident..."

_At least he's honest_, Delilah thought, regarding the boy with respect.

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman... but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on; you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!"

"Must be nearly time," said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already, and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," said Mr. Weasley. "Yes, it's a minute off... We'd better get ready..." He looked around at Delilah, Harry, and Hermione. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do—"

With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now... ten people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting...

"Three..." muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, "two... one..."

It happened immediately. Delilah felt a rush stronger than the one she'd feel when Apparating. Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Delilah on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then his feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him, and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.

Harry looked up. Everybody was on the ground except for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory, both who, though looking very windswept, were still standing, along with Cedric, who had somehow found himself holding onto Delilah to keep her from stumbling onto the ground, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. The hybrid and the wizard looked at each other in daze, a small blush adorning Cedric's already naturally rosy cheeks.

"Delilah!" a familiar boyish voice exclaimed.

And they quickly jumped apart.

Less than three seconds later, however, Delilah was tackled to the ground where she landed with a grunt, her eyes shutting tight as she took in the familiar weight that had brought her down.

"Get off me, kid," she grumbled, gently pushing him off.

Cedric quickly stepped forward and helped her up. She looked at him and gave him a halfhearted smile. "Seems you're always picking me up," she said, referring to the many times he'd helped her stand back onto her feet after they met in the dueling club.

He chuckled softly, a faint blush coloring his rosy cheeks anew. "I guess so."

The boy on the ground stared at the pair, his eyes narrowing slightly as they lingered on the bronze haired boy. He quickly shot to his feet and wormed his way to his sister's side, intensifying his gaze on the older boy, clearing his throat. In result to his interruption, Delilah and Cedric jumped slightly apart again, and Delilah glared at his brother for being clingy, while Cedric looked away, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the younger boy's intense stare.

"I'm Seth," he said in a low voice. "Seth Dawn— her brother."

"Little brother," Delilah elaborated. "Hence him being shorter than I."

Seth groaned. "Did you have to?" he whined childishly, causing the older pair to look at him with amusement.

"Yes, I did," Delilah deadpanned. "You're being unnecessarily intimidating."

The boy looked up at her, his eyes lighting up. "I was intimidating?"

Delilah snorted. "No. Watching you try to intimidate Cedric was like watching a chihuahua trying to intimidate a horse." She turned to Cedric and placed a hand on his shoulder. "No offense."

He nodded slowly. "Um... okay?"

"Though if it makes you feel any better, you'd make a very handsome horse," she added, bringing the blush back onto his rosy cheeks.

"Erm... thanks, I guess."

She chuckled. "Sorry." She then turned back to her brother. "Where's your twin from another hen?"

"Sleeping in our tent. Uncle Ren and Aunt Lara are there too. First field."

Delilah nodded. "Go back to them. I'll see you later."

Seth pouted slightly, but knew better than to argue with his sister. After giving her one last hug, and throwing one last glare toward Cedric, he left to join his tent-mates, leaving Delilah and Cedric alone. That was when she finally took a clearer look at her surroundings. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor.

A few feet away from her and Cedric was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football.

"Hello there, Arthur," said Basil wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on; I'll find your campsite... Weasley... Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts."

Delilah chuckled to herself humorously as she recalled her brother telling her their tent was in the first field as well.

"Diggory... second field... ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys and approached the cottage door, though Delilah relented slightly when Cedric called after her.

"Yes?"

"I just... well... you know what? I'll ask you right before we start school."

She chuckled, giving him a charming smile. "What, so you'll look for me on the Hogwarts Express?"

Cedric's rosy cheeks darkened as he let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "Sorry, I'd ask you now, but you'd probably forget by the time we start school. Plus there's the Quidditch match that's coming on pretty soon now..."

She grinned fondly and gave a light shrug. "Sure, just don't forget to ask whatever it is you wanted."

He grinned back. "I won't. Have fun."

"You too."

And with that said, they finally parted ways, Cedric going after his father while Delilah caught up with the Weasleys.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

"Morning!" said Mr. Weasley brightly.

"Morning," said the Muggle. "Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," said Mr. Roberts. "And who're you?"

"Weasley— two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," said Mr. Weasley.

"You'll be paying now, then?" said Mr. Roberts.

"Ah— right— certainly—" said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. "Help me, Harry," he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. "This one's a-a— a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now... So this is a five?"

"A twenty," Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word.

"Ah yes, so it is... I don't know, these little bits of paper..."  
"You foreign?" said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes.

"Foreign?" repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley nervously.

Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change.

"Never been this crowded," he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up..."

"Is that right?" said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye," he said thoughtfully. "People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" said Mr. Weasley anxiously.

"It's like some sort of... I dunno... like some sort of rally," said Mr. Roberts. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door.

"Obliviate!" he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts.

Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. "And your change."

"Thanks very much," said Mr. Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble, and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur."

He Disapparated.

Delilah frowned at the spot the man had once occupied. "I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," she said. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles."

"He should," Mr. Weasley agreed, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, "but Ludo's always been a bit... well... lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain.

"Always the same," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us."

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and there was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read **_WEEZLY_**.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" said Mr. Weasley happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there; we're as close as we could be." He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. "Right," he said excitedly, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult... Muggles do it all the time... Here, you two, where do you reckon we should start?"

Delilah had never gone hiking, even less camping in her entire life; she'd been stuck in an attic for the most part, then she'd spent a while sleeping under trees before finding her way to the orphanage. Harry had never been camping in his life either; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he, Delilah and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents.

All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem too; she gave Harry a quizzical look while Delilah merely fought back a smile as she watched Mr. Weasley drop to his hands and knees and enter the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he called, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats.

Delilah took one look at his expression and grinned softly. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Harry looked at her and smiled, nodding in agreement. "I love magic," he replied as he fully entered the tent, Delilah following right behind.

"Girls, choose a bunk and unpack," said Mr. Weasley. "Ron, get out of the kitchen we're all hungry."

"Yeah, get out of the kitchen Ron," the twins playfully scolded, both simultaneously putting their feet on the table.

"Feet off the table," Mr. Weasley called them out.

"Feet off the table," they replied in unison, both simultaneously taking their feet off the table, only to put them back on as soon as their father had walked past.

Delilah chuckled under her breath, shaking her head at them. _This is going to be a long night_, she thought, after she'd chosen the bunk between Ginny's and Hermione's.

"I'm going to go see Seth," she told them. "I'll be right back."

However, the young hybrid did not need to leave the tent to find her brother as, as soon as she finished announcing her short departure, the youngest Dawn bounced in, a large grin on his face, his best friend smiling shyly from behind him at the Weasleys and their tent-mates.

Delilah rolled her eyes at her brother's usual behavior.

"Hello, Weasley family," said the boy. "We haven't been formally introduced; I'm Seth, Deli's brother."

Mr. Weasley looked over at the girl in surprise. He had not been aware that she had a brother. Perhaps she had mentioned it, but he'd been far gone with his fascination over the Muggle life.

Noticing the surprised look on the man's face, Delilah shrugged and gave him a sheepish look. "In my defense, I only just met him last year."

"And this is my best friend," Seth continued as though his sister had not spoken. "Will. It's nice to finally meet you all, though my guess is that you're not all?"

Delilah sighed, shaking her head before taking it upon herself to relieve the air from the awkwardness her brother had brought with him.

"Why don't we go get some water?" she proposed, eyeing the dusty kettle Mr. Weasley was holding.

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," said Ron as he glanced around the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, Delilah and... erm... Seth and Will go and get us some water then—" Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans. "— and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven," said Ron. "Why can't we just—"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!"

"Wow," muttered Seth to his sister. "You really weren't kidding when you said he practically worshipped the Muggle ways."

Delilah merely chuckled. "You guys go back to Daren; we'll see each other at the game."

Sharing a one-armed hug, the youngest Dawn followed by the young Eberhardt left to do as told. Then, after a final tour of their tent, Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries.

Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.

"How many times have I told you, Kevin? You don't touch Daddy's wand— yecchh!"

She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells, "You bust slug! You bust slug!"

A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls' to skim the dewy grass.

A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—"

Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read:

_**THE SALEM WITCHES' INSTITUTE**_.

Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited.

"Er... is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" said Ron.

It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names.

"Deli! Harry! Ron! Hermione!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

"Like the decorations?" said Seamus, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" said Mrs. Finnigan. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she added, eyeing Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione beadily.

When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" said Hermione.

"Let's go and have a look," said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag— white, green, and red— was fluttering in the breeze.

The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"Krum," said Ron quietly.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Krum!" said Ron.

"Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker," Delilah elaborated, causing them all to turn and look at her in surprise. She, in turn, scoffed, a light blush creeping its way onto her cheeks. "Okay, I know I've been kidnapped more than twice, but, come on, I'm not that date retarded; I know my Quidditch."

"I get you know Quidditch well enough, but I never pegged you for someone who followed the players," said Ron.

"I don't follow the players," Delilah denied.

"Then how the bloody hell do you know Krum?"

Delilah's darkening blush did not go unnoticed by Harry. "Why are you blushing?" he asked her.

Her eyes went wide, and she quickly shook her head. "I'm not blushing!"

That had to be the worst lie she'd ever made.

Hermione then spoke up, swaying the attention away from her clearly uncomfortable best friend. "He looks really grumpy," she said, looking around at the many Krums blinking and scowling at them.

That made Delilah and Harry share a small laugh as they were pretty sure Ron's reaction would be a bit dramatic.

"'Really grumpy?" Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius; you wait until tonight, you'll see."

"Careful how you speak, Ron," Harry warned jestingly.

Delilah nodded, knowing where he was getting at. "Yeah, some might think you're in love."

Ron glared at his laughing friends and grumbled under his breath. "Oh, shut up."

There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious."

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Delilah and Hermione were overcome with such a strong fit of giggles at this point that they had to duck out of the queue and only return when Archie had collected his water and moved away.

Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families.

Oliver Wood, the old captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry and Delilah over to his parents' tent to introduce them, and told them excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next, they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Delilah, who smiled back warmly as she waved back.

Harry then pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" he said. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," said Ron. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a pen-friend at a school in Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip, but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

Harry laughed, but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. He glanced at Delilah and Hermione, who both looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt they had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other.

"You've been ages," said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys' tents.

"Met a few people," said Ron, setting the water down. "You've not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.

Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last, they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested.

Delilah, too, had decided she knew quite enough about the Ministry, and stepped outside the tent after having declined the plate of food Mr. Weasley had offered her; her appetite had still not grown.

"What's up with you?"

She let out a startled yelp before looking back at the tent opening to see Ron standing there, a plate of food and a cup of water in his hands.

He grinned slightly when he realized he'd finally managed to sneak up on her. "Startled you?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but nodded. "Yeah," she replied softly.

"So what's wrong? And don't say 'nothing' because I've noticed you fighting back a lot of coughs yesterday. What happened to 'I'm sort of indestructible'?" he said, holding the food out to her.

She declined, telling him she wasn't hungry, but that only got her a glare.

"Yeah, you seem to not be hungry quite often, so come on. Tell Uncle Ron what's wrong," said the youngest Weasley boy with a half-hearted grin on his face.

She rolled her eyes, then sighed in resignation. "Honestly?" He nodded. "I don't know. And I-I'm scared because I usually know the 'why' in almost everything, but this time around I can't even figure it out no matter how hard and far I look, and _that_ pisses me off because I shouldn't be scared—"

"It's alright to be scared, you know," Ron cut her off mid-rant. "It's only human."

"But I'm _not_ human, Ronald. I-I'm a hybrid— a creature that shouldn't exist."

"But you _do_ exist, Delilah. And if there's anything I've learned in the past four years that I've known you is that things happen for a reason."

"No kidding... if only my reason wasn't for a bloody prophecy," she muttered under her breath.

Ron pursed his lips as he thought. "Another thing I've learned is that you always have a choice to make in life. Your fate... your future— it's up to you to make it as you want, it doesn't have to be like others' say so." He turned to her and gave her a small smile. "So don't let the bloody prophecy be your only reason for living, Deli. You deserve to write your own happy ending."

Delilah looked at him and thought for a moment. Could he be right? Did she deserve this? Could she make the choice to change the path her life is meant to take?

_No... after everything I've done? Of course, I don't deserve a happy ending._

"But I don't deserve that, do I?" she mumbled, looking down at her feet. "Not after every bad thing I've done."

"Deli, every good thing you've done outweighs the bad. You _do_ deserve it, you just have to be willing to choose it."

She looked at him once more and finally smiled at him. He was right. Everyone has a choice in life. Even Delilah; she wouldn't be speaking today if that weren't the case.

"When'd you get so wise, Red?" she asked, gazing up at him with fond eyes.

Ron snorted at the new nickname. "I'm a genius, I just decided to keep it a secret," he jested, bumping his shoulder against her own. "Now eat your bloody food."

"Alright, alright! My Goddess... you're becoming worse than your mother when it comes to eating."

Ron's face paled at the comment. "Merlin... I bloody hope not."


	7. Omens from the past

**Omens from the past**

**A day before the Quidditch Cup ~ Waverly Place, New York**

Alex Russo sat at the three-seated desk beside her younger brother Max, who sat between her and the eldest Russo, Justin, in their family magic lair. They were all still tired from the events from the previous day; they'd gotten into trouble, mainly because of Alex, as per usual.

"Okay, before I start class." Their father, Jerry, began to hand out the day's assignment. "I wanna remind you all that your grandmother is coming for a visit next week. And since she's your mother's mother and not my mother, she doesn't know anything about all of this," he finished.

"You mean, how you won't turn on the A.C. in here?" Max asked.

Jerry gave his youngest child a weird look. "No. I'm talking about magic," he corrected. "And when Grandma's here, no one uses magic or talks about magic."

The Russo siblings rolled their eyes but gave out a muttered agreement.

"Fine."

"Done."

"Got it."

Jerry smiled, nodding. "Good. Now let's talk about magic." Justin chuckled at the irony in what his father had said. "The spell for today." He pointed at the chalkboard with his metal teaching stick and looked back at the children. "Body Switching."

"Awesome!" Max exclaimed, looking over at his sister as he quickly got up from beside her. "Alex, you and me switch seats."

Alex gave him a weird look.

"Max, that's not magic," said Jerry.

"Dad, she never lets me sit there," the boy complained. "It would be kind of magical," he added.

Alex sighed exasperatedly. "Fine. Switch spots; anything to stop this discussion," she said as she took Max's seat.

"Okay, body switching is a spell where two people can switch bodies with each other," Jerry resumed. "For instance, Alex, you and Justin could switch bodies."

"Why would I wanna do that?" Alex interjected. "I can already do more pull-ups than him."

Justin tried to hide how offended he was, but failed as he ended up glaring at her. "Yeah, well, I'd switch bodies with Chuck Norris, do more pull-ups and give you a roundhouse kick," he said defensively, his glare slowly phasing into a grin at the thought of that.

Alex snorted. "Dude, you just admitted I can do more pull-ups than you."

"Okay," Jerry intercepted. "Now, this is a tricky spell because if you don't switch back before sundown, you'll be trapped in the other person's body forever with no way out."

"And then you'll be a vampire, and you'll have to drink blood," Max said, while slowly rising from his seat to give out a spookier effect.

This time, Justin gave his brother a weird look. "You really have to start reading the handouts," he said as his sister pushed their brother back into his seat.

"Alright, Alex, let's give it a try with me and you," said Jerry.

"Okay," the latter said, standing up and walking over to her father.

"Now, just say the two people's names, and then this: _Cambia Corporum Meum Corpora Sua Nominavi_."

"Alright." She took a deep breath, then began, holding one hand out. "Alex, Jerry, _Cambia Corporum_," she held out her other hand. "_Meum Corpora Sua Nominavi_," she finished, bringing both of her hands together as she finished the incantation.

Following the incantation, there was a flash blinding light and the next thing she knew, she was staring back at herself.

"Excellent, Alex," she found 'herself' saying. "You executed the spell perfectly." 'She' looked closer to Jerry and grimaced. "Maybe Theresa's right. I could drop a couple of pounds." 'She' walked over to the chalkboard and grimaced again. "Why is it so hot in here? Man, you have a lot of hair."

Jerry looked back at his daughter who was currently inhabiting his body and found her looking at his face in a mirror at the other side of the lair. "Smooth. Scratchy. Smooth. Scratchy," said Alex, running a hand up and down her new face, grinning.

"Alex, leave my face alone. You guys get the idea. Now switch us back."

Alex straightened her pose and placed a hand on 'her' hip, girlishly, which was weird to watch as she was doing that while still in her father's body. "Later. I've got a little shopping to do first."

"You don't have any money with you."

"No." Alex brought out her father's wallet from his back pocket and grinned. "But you do." And with that, she skipped her way out of the lair.

Jerry stared, dumbfounded, at his daughter, who ran out in his body. "Would you just? I just put you— Alex!"

And he ran after her.

A while later, the two came walking into the Waverly Sub Station, Alex slightly sulking. "Nice try, little girl."

"What? I changed us back as soon as you caught me," she defended herself.

"I caught you at the register at the mall," Jerry deadpanned.

Alex's mouth opened, ready to retort a smart-mouth reply. "Yeah, well... I got nothing," she ended up saying, her shoulders slouching in defeat.

Suddenly, a flash-blinding light came from the kitchen, catching the attention of all the Russos, and Harper Finkle, Alex's best friend who had been in on the family Russo secret for a little over a year now. Soon, the flash blinding light faded and a big burly man walked out of the kitchen, stuffing his face in a large twelve-inch sandwich.

"Uncle Kelbo!" the Russo kids exclaimed happily at the sight of their uncle.

Kelbo Russo was a fun-loving guy who used his magic to enjoy himself and do practically everything Jerry usually told his kids not to do. However, when it came to using his powers in a serious situation, Kelbo was somewhat lacking due to his inexperience and lack of ability to focus.

"Kids! Jerry! Rice!"

Theresa Russo rolled her eyes at her brother-in-law. "It's Theresa."

Kelbo shrugged. "Close enough," he replied, mouth full of munched ham, cheese, salad, and bread.

Harper smiled a somewhat hopeful smile when her best friend's uncle looked at her, hoping he wouldn't mess up her name like the Russos' grandmother usually did.

"Oh, hey Harple," said Kelbo, nodding his head at the redheaded girl as he took another bite of his sandwich.

Harper frowned and huffed a sigh. "It's Harp_er_," she corrected, but the youngest Russo from the previous generation simply waved it off. "Hi, Uncle Kelbo."

"Yeah, hi," was his muffled reply.

"Kelbo, not that I'm not glad that you're here because... secretly yet not so secretly I'm _not_, but... _why_ are you here?"

"The game! Ireland versus Bulgaria, brother! It goes down tonight! Just thought I'd come by and swipe you all from your aprons and take you there. So thoughtful of me, I know."

Jerry gave his brother a puzzled look. "What game?"

Kelbo looked back at him in disbelief before throwing his arms into the air, a bit of salad flying out of his sandwich and onto Max, who instantly put it in his mouth, earning himself some disgusted looks from his siblings.

"Quiddily-diddly-doodly-ditch!" Kelbo exclaimed himself. "How could you forget?"

Alex gasped. "Can we go? Can we go? Can we go?" She paused. "Wait, what's Squimmi-mimmly-moodly-mitch?"

"It's Quidditch," Justin corrected his sister. "It's a game played mostly by European wizards. It's like soccer for mortals, but, instead, it's played up in the air on broomsticks, and there're four balls— sorta hard to explain the rules, so I won't say any further than that since, knowing you, you'd probably fall asleep before I even reached the middle of my explanation."

Alex giggled. "True." She then turned to her father. "Anyway, Dad, can we go? Please? We've never seen anyone flying brooms and stuff like that."

But Jerry was already way ahead. "Family, pack your bags— we're going to see a Quidditch match!"

"Not so fast, pizza man, we've still got costumers," said Theresa, handing him another order to bring to a waiting table.

Harper smiled sadly. "Aww, that's nice. All of you going on a family vacation."

"I actually have an extra spot, so you can come to, Harple."

Ignoring the second mishap of her name, Harper jumped onto her feet and happily exclaimed "Yay!" while throwing her arms around Alex.

* * *

**Present ~ Dartmoor, England**

A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretense disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere.

Salespeople were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes— green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria— which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

"Been saving my pocket money all summer for this." The excitement rolled off Ron's every word as he and his best friends strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs.

Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him.

"Wow, look at these!" said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," said the saleswizard eagerly. "You can replay action... slow everything down... and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain— ten Galleons each."

"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard.

Delilah blinked, surprised, but not downright shocked; this was Harry, of course he'd go out of his way to buy things for his best friends.

"No— don't bother," said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did.

"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his, Delilah's and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," said Ron, grinning.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry," said Hermione while Delilah simply gave him a gratifying smile. "And I'll get us some programs, look—"

Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.

"It's time!" said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. "Come on, let's go!"

Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, all soon joined by the other three Dawns and Will, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Delilah couldn't help but grin along with her friends and family. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Delilah could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, she could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it.

"Seats a hundred thousand," said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. "Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again ... bless them," he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. "Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last, they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar...

"Dobby?" said Harry incredulously.

After catching on to Harry's puzzlement, Delilah face-palmed herself before she tugged on her friend's arm. "That's not Dobby, you dimwit!"

At that moment, the tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby— it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry and Delilah had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family, two years prior date.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers.

Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf— that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest.

"Sorry," Delilah told the elf, "He just thought you were someone we knew."

"But I knows Dobby too, miss!" squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by a light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. "My name is Winky, sir— and you, sir—" Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. "You is Harry Potter!"

"Yes, I am."

Eyes still wide as saucers, the small she-elf glanced at the beautiful girl beside Harry. "And you is surely Delilah Dawn."

Delilah blinked in surprise, not expecting to be addressed by the surname she'd chosen to use for about a year now. "Aye," she replied softly.

"But Dobby talks of you two all the time!" she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck.

"How is he?" said Harry. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," said Winky, shaking her head, "ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you two is setting him free."

"Why?" said Harry, taken aback. "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir, " said Winky sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" said Harry.

Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, "He is wanting paying for his work, sir."

"Paying?" said Harry blankly. "Well— why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again.

"House-elves is not paid, sir!" she said in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun," said Harry.

"House-elves are not supposed to have fun, Harry," Delilah spoke softly in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "They do what they're told, no matter what."

Winky nodded her head vigorously. "I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter—" She glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped. "— but my master sends me to the Top Box, and I comes, sir."

"Why'd he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?" said Harry, frowning.

"Master— master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy," said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf."

She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others.

"So that's a house-elf?" Ron muttered. "Weird things, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," said Harry fervently.

"He used to hit himself a lot," Delilah mumbled her agreement.

Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. "Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. "I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again ... and again ... and again..."

Delilah looked at her friend and grimaced. "Ew, you're disgusting, Ron."

He shrugged. "I'm not the one picking my nose."

"But you're the one watching... and re-watching him do it."

Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvet covered, tasseled program. "_'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,'_" she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," said Mr. Weasley. "National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show."

Delilah had a feeling the box would fill up soon, so she quickly looked around while she still could, a small, appreciative grin curving its way onto her smooth, mature yet childish features. For a moment, she glanced toward a neighboring box, where she noticed there to be only one man. He was a tall and rather lanky man dressed in a gray jumpsuit that made the young hybrid think of an American engineer.

His eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open, starstruck, as he pointed at her disbelievingly from where he stood in the other box. "You're Delilah Dawn!" He gasped. Delilah blinked once again in surprised before she smiled slightly at him and waved at him. He chuckled for a moment before a nervous look crossed his features. "Oh, I almost passed out."

Delilah gave him a confused look, then her mouth fell open, and her eyes widened in surprise when he froze and fell to the ground sideways. She looked at him for a moment, eyebrows raised, then shared a look with Hermione, who had watched the whole thing as well. Before they could turn away and back to their friends, two girls and two boys rushed over to their box and stared at her with wide eyes.

The tall boy who wore a blue, long-sleeved shirt looked at her with a dreamy look in his eyes. "You're Delilah Dawn!"

She gave him a small smile and a nod.

Suddenly, the smallest boy, who would undoubtedly even a year younger than her own brother, stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. "I have a question for you."

Again, she blinked in surprise, but then chuckled, deciding she was amused rather than offended of any sort. "Ask away."

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out as a thoughtful look suddenly crossed his childish features. He looked at her and gave her a cheeky yet sheepish smile. "Didn't I see you on the cover of Vogue?"

Shaking out of his daze, the older boy replied, "Actually, we did. Just yester—"

"You're ruining the moment," the small boy sang through his clenched teeth.

"Well, you can't consider something a pickup line if it's actually a fact, Max."

Delilah raised her eyebrows as she watched the presumable brothers argue.

"Justin, when I say you're ruining the moment, it means 'go away'!" 'Max' whisper-yelled at his brother.

"Max, what are you doing?!" a girl with brown hair hissed at him.

Delilah couldn't help but giggle, causing said boy to look back at her and smile. "This guy," he said, laughing, pretending he was just joking around with his brother, before turning and quickly sending the latter a meaningful glare. He then turned back to the young hybrid and tried again. "Did you invent the airplane?" Delilah bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. "Cause you seem Wright for me."

Chuckling again, she stepped out of his grip and patted the boy's heads. "You're adorable, and, for the record, I've _actually_ already heard those lines before."

Before anyone could add anything, both boys were yanked back by their shirts by the brunette who was clearly their sister. She glared at them, then turned to look at Delilah and smiled at her.

"Sorry about my... brothers." She leaned forward closer to Delilah and whispered, "They are mentally ill."

Delilah chuckled, though before she could reply, the orange-headed girl standing beside the brunette blurted out, "Oh, my God, you're Delilah Dawn." The three siblings turned to look at her, dumbfounded. Looking back at them, the girl shrugged. "What? I may not own a magic stick, but it doesn't mean I don't know how to read those magic newspapers that fly into your lair."

Delilah chuckled again. "Well, you seem to know who I am, but I don't know who you are. Care for introductions?" she said politely.

Just then, the oldest boy stepped forward, trying to look smooth. "I'm Russo. Justin Russo."

His sister, however, decided she didn't want her either of her brothers to try and get close to her possible celebrity bestie. "And I'm Alex," she cut in, pushing Justin aside. "And this is our little brother Max, and my best friend, Harper."

"Alex! Max! Justin! I told you guys not to run— you're Delilah Dawn!"

"Do you think it was coincidental, or does it to run in their family?" Hermione mumbled, emitting another chuckled from the hybrid.

"And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Russo," said Delilah, still as polite as ever.

Then another big burly man stumbled into the Top Box, joining them all. "You're Delilah Dawn!"

Delilah sighed. "Okay, I don't remember being this famous... at least not with that name..."

"You're kidding, right?" said Alex. "You're on every newspaper, magazine and history book in _our_ world."

Justin nodded. "And that means something, considering Alex doesn't read anything unless there are images, and even then she only looks at the pictures."

"What?! That's not—" Alex paused for a moment, then snorted. "Actually that is true."

"You're a hero!" said Max.

By the time the newcomers, who were clearly American, stopped rambling, Delilah's face was almost as red as the Weasleys' hair. She'd been embarrassed times aplenty, but she'd never really felt suddenly shy over so many praises.

"Deli?" Ron said, his attention long gone from the man picking his nose boxes away. He pushed a finger against her shoulder, then snorted when she didn't budge and looked up at the Russos. "I think you broke her."

Seth rolled his eyes. "She's not broken. She's just not used to so much praise."

Ron blinked, confused. "What? She gets praised plenty in school."

"No, everyone looks at her like some art exhibition or a historical artifact. No one has ever really praised her for her achievements except for us," said Seth. He then smiled fondly at his sister. "You should've seen her when I taught her how to play the piano, then when Aunt Lara taught her how to dance."

"She's become shy," Hermione realized, surprised at her best friend.

"Well, since you've introduced yourselves, and Del's in a conscious, shock-stuck comatose, I guess I can do the rest of the introductions. I'm Seth, Deli's brother." Ignoring the shocked looks on the Russos' faces, Seth continued. "This is my Aunt Lara Darell, my Uncle Daren Dawn, my best friend Will Eberhardt, and my sister's best friends— Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Fred and George Weasley. And these are the rest of the Weasleys— Charlie, Percy, Bill, and Mr. Weasley. There's a lot more, but I don't know 'em, so the introductions stop there," Seth finished with a bright smile.

"_Vos nunquam clauditis, do tibi, frater?_" **(You never shut up, do you, brother?)** Delilah grumbled, finally snapping out of her state of shyful shock.

"_Amor quoque, soror_," **(Love you too, sister)** said Seth with a cheeky smile on his face.

Before further words could be exchanged between the Dawns, the Weasleys and the Russos, the box began to fill quickly around them, over the next half hour being almost completely full. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards, no one mentioning the two Muggles in their company, or rather three since Jerry Russo was no longer a wizard.

Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry and Delilah, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like old friends. They had met before, and Fudge shook both Harry's and Delilah's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how they were, and introduced them to the wizards on either side of him.

"Harry Potter and Delilah Hawkins, you know," he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "Harry Potter and Delilah Hawkins... oh, come on now, you know who they are... the boy and girl who survived You-Know-Who... you do know who _he_ is—"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar, then glanced towards the one slightly hidden beneath Delilah's thick curls, and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at the marks.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to the famous duo. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat... good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places... ah, and here's Lucius!"

Delilah, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother.

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

Alex snorted from where she stood, near Delilah. "His name is Fudge?" But she quickly quieted down, glaring at Justin, who had elbowed her in the ribs.

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk— Obalonsk— Mr— well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else— you've met Mr. Russo before," the man went on, gesturing toward the burly man beside Alex's father.

"Kelbo," the burly man corrected, nodding— surprisingly curtly— at the blond haired man. "Yes, we've been acquainted."

Noticing the tinge of discomfort in the air, Fudge swayed the attention away from Kelbo before it could reach the rest of the Russos, unknowingly only making things worse.

"And you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Much more tense than when the attention was placed upon Kelbo. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other, and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: it had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

"Good lord, Arthur," he said softly. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?" Mr. Weasley turned red to his roots, but said nothing. "Well, I guess you're... _lucky_; if it rains... you'll be the first to know."

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur."

"Father and I are in the minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself," Draco cut in, boasting loudly.

"How— how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

"Don't boast Draco," said Lucius. "There's no need with these people. Do enjoy yourself won't you. While you can."

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Delilah glared at the man as she knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then one toward Delilah, which she found surprisingly unreadable, then settled himself between his mother and father.

"Slimy gits," Ron muttered as he, Delilah, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming. "Minister— ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

Soon after, seven green and white figures flew through the air on their brooms leaving a colored trail behind them. A glittering leprechaun appeared in the sky and started dancing, rendering almost everyone excited.

"Here come the Bulgarians!" said George.

"Was that Fred or George?" Alex shouted over the loud noise.

"Fred," the twins replied, while the rest of the family and friends replied, "George," at the same time.

Suddenly, seven red figures flew in, one of them performing a stunt on his broom, another appeared on the large screen, causing the crowd to go wild and begin to chant 'Krum, Krum, Krum'.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The massive blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed:

**BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0**.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. "Veela!"

Delilah's eyes widened in panic. "What?!"

"What are veel—"

But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women... _some_ of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen... except that they weren't— they couldn't be— human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind... but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human— in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all when his attention snapped toward Delilah, who gave him quite the shock. Had he not been in love with her for the past three years, he would've fallen right then and there.

She had removed her black cashmere coat, and he could now see what she had changed into; she wore a navy blue blouse, which fanned over her waist like curtain over her black leather, rubberized trousers, which clung to her lower body, showing the curves he hadn't noticed she'd developed throughout the summer they spent away from each other. What else he noticed was that the tips of her usually brown curls had begun to morph into a golden blond color, and that got him confused; he knew her eyes and hair often changed color when certain emotions were very strong, but the only emotion she seemed to be displaying at this moment was irritation.

"What the bloody hell happened to your hair, Dels?!" Ron exclaimed, taking the words right out of Harry's mouth.

Once again, Delilah turned red. "Part Veela, remember?" she mumbled, turning her attention back to the game, while self-consciously tugging at the tips of her coloring locks.

Harry pulled her hand away from her hair and held it in his hand. "Don't have to be embarrassed about it, Lilly." Delilah smiled slightly before looking back at the arena, not noticing the glare fixated upon her hand intertwined with Harry's by a certain bleach-blond boy.

The veela had started to dance, and most male's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that they kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through their dazed minds. They all wanted to do something very impressive, right now, and many thought along the lines of jumping from their boxes into the stadium.

The music suddenly came to a stop. Harry blinked, and glanced to his right, where he found Ron frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands.

"You'll be wanting that," he said, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" said Ron, staring open-mouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field.

Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Ron back into his seat. "Honestly!" she said.

"And now," roared Ludo Bagman's voice, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display.

"I thought they already finished introductions," said Alex as she watched the show with her family and best friend in awe.

"That was nothing but an entrance," said Mr. Weasley. "They usually go all out when Mr. Bagman, over there, does the introductions. You saw the Veela, now just wait and see what the Irish folk have brought."

"It's more than just fireworks," Kelbo agreed.

Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it.

"Excellent!" yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats.

Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green.

"Leprechauns!" said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold.

"There you go," Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, "for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

Delilah looked at her best friends and laughed loudly, even more when she noticed Seth and Will trying to grab as much gold as they could.

The great shamrock soon dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome— the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you— Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

"Ivanova!"

A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand— Krum!"

"That's him, that's him!" yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars.

Harry quickly focused his own. Not needing her own much to see from such distance, Delilah simply narrowed her eyes slightly as she stared down at the familiar young man. He hadn't changed much since their first and last encounter. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen.

"And now, please greet— the Irish National Quidditch Team!" yelled Bagman. "Presenting— Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand— Lynch!"

Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word "Firebolt" on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open— four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch.

With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible— the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses, and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it—

"TROY SCORES!" roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. "But Levski's got the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field.

Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily.

Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed.

Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest kept squeaking their names: "Troy— Mullet— Moran!" And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova— oh, I say!" roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was—

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione next to Ron.

She was half right— at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman's voice, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay; he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes. He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion.

_WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT— DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION_ read the shining purple lettering across his lenses.

He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood— Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference.

Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland a new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far.

After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Harry didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing— excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informed the roaring spectators. "And— yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words "HA, HA, HA!" The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again.

As once, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Harry's arm. He turned to look at her, and she pulled his fingers impatiently out of his ears. He glanced over at the Dawns and the Russos, only to find them rather immune to the beauty of the Veela, but averted his attention from them when he noticed that that wasn't what Hermione was trying to show them.

"Look at the referee!" she said, giggling.

Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly.

"Now, we can't have that!" said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. "Somebody slap the referee!"

"I'll do it," said Justin with a roll of his eyes. Alex, who less than often got along with her brother, laughed loudly at his reply, along with their brother Max and Harper.

A mediwizard then came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the Veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" said Bagman's voice. "Now there's something we haven't seen before... oh, this could turn nasty..."

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians' arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms... yes... there they go... and Troy takes the Quaffle..

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov, in particular, seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

"Foul!" roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. "Dimitrov skins Moran— deliberately flying to collide there— and it's got to be another penalty— yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders—

"And that, boys," yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet.

"Levski— Dimitrov— Moran— Troy— Mullet— Ivanova— Moran again— Moran— MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov—

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him—"

"Look at Lynch!" Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing...

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on... but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again—

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Hermione.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

"You guys are horrible for thinking that!" Delilah hollered at the boys.

And he was right— for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

"Told you!" said Harry.

Delilah rolled her eyes at him. "I don't care, you idiot," she muttered.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it— Krum's got it— it's all over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing **BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170** across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH— BUT IRELAND WINS— good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good... He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."

Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium; the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," said a gloomy voice behind Delilah. She looked around and felt her eyes widen in surprise; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You _can_ speak English!" said Fudge, sounding outraged. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Veil, it vos very funny," said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging, emitting a few silent chuckles from Delilah and her friends.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" roared Bagman.

Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers— Bulgaria!" Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him, and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry's hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that... shame it couldn't have lasted longer... Ah, yes... yes, I owe you... how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

* * *

"Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated."

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite, they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

"Oh, I am glad I'm not on duty," muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating."

Harry, who remained at the small table, sat still, staring at Delilah, whom absentmindedly stared up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead. He had not noticed how grandly her demeanor had changed; she was much more distracted, distant again, quiet, and though she smiled quite often, her smiles were not as genuine as they had become over the years they'd known each other. There were times she'd be like this. Most had been the previous year, but, then, she had pretty valuable excuses; she hadn't phased in a _long_ while, so she had to catch up on that, and she kept having premonitious visions. But even then she wasn't so distracted. In their third year at Hogwarts, Delilah had become one of the most outgoing people he'd ever known. Granted, she'd lost her memory, had rejuvenated, and had grown all over again, in a period of six months, in a completely different environment from the first that had rendered her mute for ten years.

"You've changed," blurted out the boy who lived.

Delilah blinked herself out of her trance and looked down at her friend, eyes puzzled. "Huh?"

Harry frowned; she was definitely more distracted. Clearing his throat, he repeated, "You've changed."

It seemed as though it were the first time Delilah didn't know what he was talking about; she glanced down at her attire and felt her cheeks heat up slightly. "I thought it'd be a good idea to change clothes for the game. Not exactly the clothes I would choose, but it's become pretty hard to win an argument against Lara."

"That's not what I meant... why do you call Lara by her name? Isn't she your aunt?" Harry asked, recalling how often he'd heard Seth call the woman so.

Delilah smiled slightly and shook her head. "She's my second cousin, but she practically raised Seth, with Daren, that's why he calls her so."

"But Daren's your uncle."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you call him so?"

Delilah was silent for a moment. "You and I, Harry, we're similar. Survived a killing curse as babes, and orphaned as such. Only difference is that you at least had people to take you in, never mind them being horrible people who are against magic. You had a _home_, while I was stuck _alone_... lost. The orphanage I was in before I came to Hogwarts?" Harry nodded. "I wasn't there my whole life. I'd only been there since I was nine, and only stayed there for two years."

She frowned and looked down at her hands. "Though I tried not to, I started to care about people a lot more than I should. And that frightened me quite a bit, because when I'd lived with my pack..." She paused slightly, feeling the foreign word slip from her lips.

"I was taught to never care for anyone that wasn't family. And my pack was my family. After we were ambushed when I was two, I was lost and grew up in fear of the world, as all I kept thinking was how no one was ever going to find me. How I would be alone forever. And that was the case. No one found me until I took the initiative to take a step back into the real world, something my people had spent years going against. When I got to the orphanage, I realized I wasn't the only kid who was alone. But it wasn't the same. We weren't the same. Most of those kids lost their parents or parent in a more... natural way— a car crash, any accident really, even out of sickness.

Others were just left there because their parents either didn't feel like they were ready to have kids, or they were abandoned, or had run away from home. Even in an orphanage where no one knew of my abilities, which had just begun to surface... I was an outcast. I was the one who really stayed alone; many came to adopt, whether the kid was very young, a baby, or even a teenager— I was never even given a second glance. I gave up long before that on hope; no one was coming, that had to mean I was alone. Us soul shifters have a really strong mind link, whether it be with a pack member or a family member who isn't part of the pack. Even as a babe, I could hear my grandparents through my mind when we were a thousand miles apart. But after the ambush?"

Harry blinked. The ambush? He knew of the ambush that occurred the previous year on her aunt's pack, as Delilah had shown it to him, but she'd never mentioned an ambush on her mother's pack. Actually, from all the years he'd known her, she never spoke of her family at all; he didn't even know how they died. Granted, the first year she was mute for most of it, the second they barely spent time together, and the third she'd just began to recover the memories she'd lost in that summer, but they'd had times together where they spoke of nothing. How many times had she told him he was her best friend? How many times had she told him she trusted him more than anyone in the world? Surely she would have told him of her past. After all, she knew everything about his.

"My mind had never been so silent. For a year and a half, I tried to reach out to everyone, in hopes that at least a few had survived." She smiled bitterly. "I never got an answer. So I grew up with the belief that I was the last hybrid of my kind in the world. That my whole family was dead, only to find out— a whole freakin' decade later— that I wasn't just some shifting hybrid, but also a witch, and not only so, but also a Wiccan. That my father wasn't really my father, and that my mother had survived the ambush and had given me a baby brother, and that I had an uncle whom I'd never heard of or met in my entire life, and a second cousin— I didn't even know my mother had a twin sister! I... I... !"

Delilah hadn't realized it, but a few tears had begun to slip from her eyes. "And they knew! They knew I was alive, and that pisses me off, because they never looked for me! They—" Delilah's eyes widened when she finally grasped the words that were leaving her lips. Like a doe caught in daylight, she looked up at Harry, and silently cursed herself a million times when she realized she was telling him _everything_.

_No, he couldn't know_. No one could know. It was her curse, her burden— no one was allowed to carry it for her.

Bringing her wand out, she swallowed hard, eyes never leaving Harry's. The boy quickly glanced down at her hand and felt his own eyes widen as the realization hit him; she was going to make him forget.

_No_. She was not allowed to do that. All these things she told him— he _should_ know. Especially after everything they'd been through. Why couldn't she see that? Why couldn't she accept that someone wanted to help her carry the heavy trunk?

Before Harry could object, the girl apologized, then blinded him with the small light emitting from the tip of her wand. When the flash-blinding light subsided, Harry found himself staring at Delilah, puzzled.

Noticing a tear slipping from her eye, he leaned forward, worried. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him for a moment, then laughed softly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Yeah," she murmured. "I just... something got in my eye and wouldn't get out. Rubbed it too much, now it's red and crying."

Harry gave out a look that was somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "That kind of stuff is always a bugger to get rid of," he agreed as he stood. "Let me help."

She watched him curiously as he grabbed her hand and pulled her onto her feet. He gently placed both of his thumbs on the skin around her slightly reddened eye, pulling at the lids to keep them apart. Moving his face closer, he brought his lips upward until they hovered over her eye, then let out a quick, strong blow. She blinked, once, twice, then looked at him puzzled.

He then let go and stepped away, giving her a sheepish look. "My Aunt Petunia did that to Dudley often, when he got things in his eyes. She'd say it was to get it out. I guess it worked since your eye isn't crying anymore. And the red's going away, so that's good."

She stared at him, blinking owlishly, for a moment before laughing softly again, and pulling the boy into a hug. "Thank you, Harry," she said, then whispered, "And I'm sorry."

The boy frowned, pulling slightly away from the embrace. "For what?"

She smiled sadly at him. "For a lot of things." And then she placed a soft kiss on his cheek, causing the confused boy to blush slightly. "Goodnight, _Harold_."

And his worries were all forgotten as a boyish grin crawled onto his lips. "Goodnight, Dels."

Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep after he'd bunked in, all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting.

"Get up! Ron— Harry— come on now, get up, this is urgent!"

Harry sat up quickly, and the top of his head hit canvas. "S' matter?" he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, "No time, Harry— just grab a jacket and get outside— quickly!"

Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them... they didn't seem to have faces... Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers, and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. "That is really sick..."

Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot— get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid— Lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he barked, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from behind them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around... they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Hermione's a witch," Harry snarled.

"Have it your own way, Potter," said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."

"You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that "Mudblood" was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

"Never mind, Ron," said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed.

Malfoy chuckled softly. "Scare easily, don't they?" he said lazily. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to— trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" said Harry, his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling. "Well... if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"

"Oh, come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, "let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," sneered Malfoy.

"Come on," Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron up the path again.

"I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!" said Ron hotly.

"Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!" said Hermione fervently. "Oh, I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, "_Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue_—"

"Er— what?" said Ron.

"Oh..." The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, "Ogwarts."

"Beauxbatons," muttered Hermione.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"They must go to Beauxbatons," said Hermione. "You know... Beauxbatons Academy of Magic... I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe."

"Oh... yeah... right," said Harry.

Hermione gave him a flat look. "You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Harry gave her a sheepish nod. "Haven't got a clue."

"Fred and George can't have gone that far," said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path.

Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand, only to find it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. "Ah, no, I don't believe it... I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding!"

Ron and Hermione raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," said Ron.

"Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?" Hermione suggested anxiously.

"Yeah," said Harry, "maybe..." He usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and finding himself without it in the midst of a scene like this made him feel very vulnerable.

A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible was trying to hold her back.

"There is bad wizards about!" she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. "People high— high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!"

And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

"What's up with her?" said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. "Why can't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't ask permission to hide," said Harry. He was thinking of Dobby: every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the house-elf had been forced to start beating himself up.

"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" said Hermione indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?"

"Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?" Ron said. "You heard old Winky back at the match... 'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'... that's what she likes, being bossed around..."

"It's people like you, Ron," Hermione began hotly, "who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to—"

Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

"Let's just keep moving, shall we?" said Ron, and Harry saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy had said; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were. They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there.

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Further still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"No, you're not!" yelled his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron... but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far—"

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am."

Harry snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: his name was Stan Shunpike, and he was, in fact, a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"

"Honestly!" said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away.

By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

Harry looked around. "I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off."

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Seth emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them, Will flanking his side. Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over the youngest Dawn. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.

"Who's that?" he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. Finally, his eyes settling upon the bushy-haired girl, his eyes became panicked. "Hermione?"

The girl looked back at him with equally wide eyes. "Seth?!"

"Where's Delilah?!" they both exclaimed in unison. Harry and Ron blinked simultaneously as the realization came to them that Delilah was nowhere to be seen, and began to panic.

Hermione gave the Wiccan boy an accusatory look. "I thought she was with you!"

Seth paled at those words. "She was," he whispered.

"She flashed us away from the riot," Will chimed in. "I don't think she meant to bring us here specifically, but she said she would find you."

Seth ran a hand through his hair, at that moment looking very much like his sister when she seemed distressed about something. "I gotta go find her," said blurted out, turning his back to them.

"You will do no such thing!" Hermione hollered at him.

Ignoring her, he reached into his pocket and froze, his face paling even more as his nose scrunched in pain.

"Seth?" Will stepped towards his best friend, concern written all over his face. "What's wrong?"

"I gotta find... Dels! She's hurt!"

Hermione looked at Ron and Harry, then turned back to the boy, narrowing her eyes at him. "How do you know that?"

Seth gave a slightly pained and bitter smile, a shocking difference to his usual happy and cheerful ones. "Has she ever told you about a pack mind link?"

"She may have mentioned it once," Ron spoke.

"Well, it's stronger between blood-related siblings. She's let me in a little more in the past few weeks; I can feel a little more of what she feels now."

Harry blinked, eyes wide. "That means—"

"He can feel her pain," Hermione finished.

* * *

"Protego Maxima!"

A white wisp shot out from the tip of her wand and flew towards the Russos and Harper, creating a large, glowing blue, protective dome around them. A mere second later, the young hybrid who had cast the protection charm was thrown back, her back hitting hard against the magical shield, causing her to drop her wand. Before she could even react, she was picked up from the ground and thrown against the shield again, in front of which she fell in a crouch.

The alpha within her rendered furious, her head snapped up, her eyes glowing mildly red with anger while her canine teeth enlarged into fangs as she bared them angrily, with a deep-throated growl, at her attacker. Her fury faltered slightly when she was met with a pair of bright green eyes, glowing in the dark of the night. There was nothing else she could distinguish from her assailant, other than the fact that he was a man, as his gender was given away by his large build. His identity remained unknown, yet familiar due to those eyes Delilah could not help but think she had seen before.

Her gaze moved towards his, and the more humane part of her became angry as she felt the alpha within her begin to calm as her gaze remained locked on his bright green eyes, and his on hers. She didn't like that her wolf was calming at the sight of this stranger who, mind you, attacked her, so, drawing out her fangs, her violet eyes shaded into a glowing red color as she growled angrily at her assailant.

Sprinting forward, she leaped into the air, then, landing in front of him, she pounced forward, punching him square in the face. The hit was strong, which caused her opponent to stumble backward and drop his own wand. Soon, the pair engaged into a hand and foot battle, throwing kicks and punches everywhere and anywhere. Suddenly, something pierced through her chest, causing her to freeze where she stood, glowing multi-colored eyes wide, fangs gone as she stared deep into the familiar eyes, fear glazing over her own as the hold on the organ in her chest tightened.

A sound between a gag and a whimper emitted from her throat as a tear went stray from her eye. The tear seemed to shift something within the man who, quite literally, held her heart.

_"Joelyon, now you must promise me you will take good care of my little flower," said Ella-Grace._

_The toddler was confused as her mother handed her over to the boy; Ella-Grace had made it rather clear, since the birth of her only daughter, that she hated having anyone else touch her. Even the baby's father. Little Delilah did not mind being handed over to this specific person though; she liked the boy. He was nice and always gave her his full attention when they were around each other._

_"Don't worry, Mrs. Hawkins." Said woman's eye twitched slightly at the name. "Lilah's in good hands."_

_Ella-Grace smiled slightly at the boy. "We won't be gone for long, but I trust you."_

_The boy giggled slightly. "Is it really that you trust me, or that this little monster won't shut up when she's with others?"_

_Delilah's lower lip jutted out lightly as her little doe eyes narrowed at him in disapproval at the name calling. She might've been a toddler, but she, like every other shifter, grew rather quickly in maturity; she understood every word they spoke, even if she couldn't speak it yet due to her lack of teeth and practice of word articulation. She lifted her tiny arm, and flicked him in the forehead._

_"Ow," he grumbled, then winced slightly at the glare sent his way. "Goddess... it's scary just how much she understands."_

_Ella-Grace chuckled. "We were all once like that." Glancing down at her wristwatch, she sighed and said, "Well, I've got to go. Take care you two."_

_And then she disappeared a thin air. The pair that remained there looked at the spot the female Alpha had once been occupying, awestruck._

_"I'll never get used to that," the boy muttered, the awestruck look on his face turning into one of fondness as he found the little girl in his arms giggling giddily at her mother's 'magic trick.' She made small gurgling noises, pointing at the spot her mother once stood at, clapping her hands together._

_Joelyon smiled. "We'll be able to do that one day," he reassured her, earning himself a bright smile._

The man's grip on the pumping organ loosened and slid out of her flesh, his bloody hand remaining on the open wound. Suddenly, both their heads snapped to the side at the sound of a loud, animalistic growl. Before either of them could register where the noise came from, or who had emitted it, both bodies were sent crashing to the ground, a smaller figure attacking the hybrid's assailant.

Delilah's vision was blurry, and her open chest was burning with pain, though she could distinctly see a boy beating her assailant to the pulp.

"..." Delilah was barely able to emit a sound now.

Momentarily distracted, the attacker suddenly disappeared from under Seth, leaving him to throw a punch against the burnt soil. His nose picking up the smell of blood, his head instantly snapped to the right, his eyes widening at the sight of his wounded sister whom, shockingly, had tears in her eyes as she chocked, gasping for air.

Now out of the protective dome, the Russo kids fussed over the fallen hybrid, crying out to their father to do something. The man could only panic at the sight of blood, unable to think clearly.

"I don't know any spells! I haven't been a wizard in sixteen years!"

"Then what the heck have you been teaching us at home in the past four years?!" Justin exclaimed himself.

Alex turned to her uncle who was trying not to look at the gory sight. "Uncle Kelbo, you're an advanced trained wizard. Do something!"

The man began to panic as much as his brother. "I just pull harmless pranks on people!"

"Deli! Dels!" Seth stressed, scrambling over to his sister. His thoughts ran wild as he tried to think up a spell, or at least make one up, but he quickly remembered he had lost his wand. "No, no, no, no!"

"Seth! Delilah!"

A couple of yards away, Hermione was running as fast as she could, heading their way. Right behind her were Will and the rest of the golden quartet. The four of them ran through the rubble, Hermione and Harry immediately dropping beside the Dawn siblings. At the sight of her friends, Delilah's mouth cracked open in attempt to speak, but all that came out was a gurgling sound. Harry quickly propped the girl's head on his lap.

"Where is she hurt?" Hermione asked hurriedly while Harry simultaneously demanded, "What happened?"

Seth, caught in the midst of his panic in not knowing what to do, could not find himself to answer. The pair turned their attention to the wounded girl who was practically choking in her own blood.

"Where are you hurt?" Hermione directed her question to the hybrid, while Harry, once again, simultaneously asked, "Why aren't you healing?"

Despite the pain she was visibly in, it was clear Delilah did not know the answer to Harry's question, which only pushed her irritation with the lack of knowledge almost as far as her pain was.

"Her chest," Ron pointed out. "It's soaked."

"Harry, your jumper!" Hermione ordered, balling it up as soon as the boy gave it to her, and pressing it against Delilah's wound to stop the bleeding as best as she could.

"The... man..." Delilah finally managed to articulate through her unusually salivated mouth. "Know... him... somewhere..."

"I think she's going demented," Justin said worriedly, only earning himself a half focused glare from the hybrid.

"Not... demented... man... hand... in my chest."

"The man who shoved his hand in your chest... you know him from somewhere?" Max asked, which earned him a barely audible 'yes,' followed by surprised looks. He shrugged. "Alex talks like that when she's not completely awake."

"That's true," Harper mumbled as the rest of the Russos nodded in agreement.

"Hello?! Sister dying down here!" Seth exclaimed himself.

"Why isn't she healing?!" the bushy-haired girl repeated Harry's question.

"I-I don't know!" Seth stammered, tears building up in his own eyes as he held on to his clearly pained sister.

"I thought you lot had a powerful regenerative healing factor!" Hermione cried out accusingly. "Seth—"

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. The others glanced around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, the only audible noise being Delilah's staggered breathing and the sound of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt.

"Hello?" called Harry.

There was silence. Harry got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but he could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision.

"Who's there?" Seth demanded, voice thick with anger. "I swear— if you're the one who did this, I will kill you."

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

"_MORSMORDRE_!"

And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness, flying up over the treetops and into the sky.

"What the—" gasped Ron, staring up at the thing that had appeared.

For a split second, most of them thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then they realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" Harry called out.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione had risen to her feet, and seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward.

"What's the matter?" Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

"Oh, were we supposed to cast our own customized fireworks?" Max wondered dumbly.

"What?" Justin gave his brother a strange look. "No, Max, that's the—"

"Dark Mark!" Hermione moaned, pulling Harry as hard as she could. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"I don't know Who's sign?" Alex asked.

Justin glanced momentarily at his sister. "Voldemort's sign."

"Who's Voldem—" Alex cut herself as she remembered. "Oh..."

"Come on!" Hermione told everyone hurriedly, leaning down to help Seth with Delilah. "We've got to get out of here."

Harry turned— Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum— the group started across the clearing, Delilah in Seth's arms— but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards or so, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Ron, Hermione, the Russos and the family friend, and the Dawn siblings.

Without pausing to think, he yelled, "DUCK!" He seized Seth and the rapidly fading Delilah, and pulled them down onto the ground.

"STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices— there was a blinding series of flashes and Harry felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch he saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards' wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness—

"Stop!" yelled a voice he recognized. "STOP! That's my son!"

Harry's hair stopped blowing about. He raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of him had lowered his wand. He rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified.

"Ron—Harry—" His voice sounded shaky. "— Hermione— are you all right?"

"Seth! Delilah!"

Within the next second, both, Daren and Lara pushed their way through the wizards all the way to the young Dawns, both sharing a look of horror when they caught sight of the bloody girl in the thirteen-year-old boy's arms.

"Oh, my Goddess..." Lara gasped.

Daren quickly leaned down and whipped his wand out of his pocket. Pulling Harry's soaked jumper off, he aimed his wand at the hole in Delilah's chest and mumbled, "Cura," under his breath, followed by, "Refectio." It was enough to stop the bleeding and close the wound for the healing to kick in more quickly, and although it relieved her from a bit of the pain, it didn't make it vanish completely, causing the young hybrid to lose consciousness and fall limp in her brother's arms.

Arthur, who had been standing not far behind Lara and Daren, watching the scene before them with worry clouding his eyes, was suddenly all but shoved aside to leave the place a man of higher status and authority.

"Out of the way, Arthur," he spoke in a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage, though nothing matched the anger Harry felt himself falling in for the big waves of disregard sent towards his previously deadly injured best friend whom, now that he thought of it— could have _really_ died this time from almost have her heart _literally_ ripped out.

"Which of you did it?" he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

Harry got to his feet and glared at the man. "We didn't do that!" he said, gesturing up at the skull.

"We didn't do anything!" said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping— he looked slightly mad. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to—"

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" said Mr. Weasley quickly.

"You must be joking." The look on Lara's face was unbelievably murderous as she turned to face the man. "Half of these people are afraid of merely hearing You-Know-Who's name, and the other only just found out who he was. And in case you haven't noticed, Crouch, my niece had just been mortally wounded, so I'm pretty sure they had other things going on in their heads rather than a stupid green skull throwing up a snake while floating in freakin' sky!" she growled.

Trying to swerve the tension away from their group, Hermione stood and stepped forward, remaining behind Harry as though to shadow herself with his taller build. "Over there," she said shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. "There was someone behind the trees... they shouted words— an incantation—"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, Missy—"

But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Will, or Seth had conjured the skull, seeing as the other young girl lay fainted on the ground, and the other young witches and wizards present were still panicking on the side with a few Muggles that had come with them to the Cup; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

"We're too late," said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. "Our Stunners went right through those trees... There's a good chance we got them...

"Amos, be careful!" said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth.

A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout. "Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's— but— blimey..."

"You've got someone?" shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. "Who? Who is it?"

They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky.

Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds, Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again.

"This— cannot— be," he said jerkily. "No—"

He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky.

"No point, Mr. Crouch," Mr. Diggory called after him. "There's no one else there."

But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching.

"Bit embarrassing," Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. "Barty Crouch's house-elf... I mean to say..."

"Come off it, Amos," said Daren in an oddly quiet tone, "you don't seriously think it was the elf?"

"He's got a point there, Amos," Mr. Weasley piped in. "The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," said Mr. Diggory, "and she had a wand."

"What?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

Just then there was another pop and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull.

"The Dark Mark!" he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. "Who did it? Did you get them? Barry! What's going on?"

Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching.

"Where have you been, Barty?" said Bagman. "Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too— gulping gargoyles!" Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. "What happened to her?"

"I have been busy, Ludo," said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. "And my elf has been stunned."

"Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why—"

Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch.

"No!" he said. "Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!"

"And she had one," said Mr. Diggory. "I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself." Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but the latter seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, "Ennervate!"

Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened, and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs.

"Elf!" said Mr. Diggory sternly. "Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"

Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience.

"As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago," said Mr. Diggory. "And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

"I-I-I is not doing it, sir!" Winky gasped. "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it.

"Hey— that's mine!" he said

Everyone in the clearing looked at him.

"Excuse me?" said Mr. Diggory, incredulously.

"That's my wand!" said Harry. "I dropped it!"

"You dropped it?" repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. "Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?"

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" said Lara, very angrily. "Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

"Er— of course not," mumbled Mr. Diggory. "Sorry... carried away.."

"I didn't drop it there, anyway," said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. "I missed it right after we got into the wood."

"So," said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. "You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

"I is not doing magic with it, sir!" squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. "I is... I is... I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, i is not knowing how!"

"It wasn't her!" said Will. The usually incredibly shy boy looked as nervous as any youngling would in such a situation, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet his determination did not bring him down. "Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!" He looked around at Harry, Hermione, and Ron, appealing for their support, as his best friend was still drained with the fear he had previously felt for his sister's life. "It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "It definitely didn't sound like an elf."

"Yeah, it was a human voice," said Ron.

"A man," Hermione added.

"Well, we'll soon see," growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. "There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?"

Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's.

"Prior Incantato!" roared Mr. Diggory.

Harry heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell.

"Deletrius!" Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke. "So," said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

"I is not doing it!" she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. "I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!"

"You've been caught red-handed, elf!" Mr. Diggory roared. "Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!"

"Amos," said Mr. Weasley loudly, "think about it... precious few wizards know how to do that spell... where would she have learned it?"

"Perhaps Amos is suggesting," said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, "that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?"

There was a profoundly unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. "Mr. Crouch... not... not at all."

"You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!" barked Mr. Crouch. "Harry Potter— and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?"

"I—"

"And the girl's history, Amos? The girl who his right now unconscious right over there—" Mr. Crouch pointed at Delilah's unconscious form in her brother's arms. "— after having previously been mortally injured?"

"Of course— everyone knows—" muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted.

"And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?" Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

"Mr. Crouch, I-I never suggested you had anything to do with it!" Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!" shouted Mr. Crouch. "Where else would she have learned to conjure it?"

"She— she might've picked it up anywhere—"

"Precisely, Amos," said Mr. Weasley. "She might have picked it up anywhere... Winky?" he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. "Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. "I— I is finding it... finding it there, sir..." she whispered, "there... in the trees, sir."

"You see, Amos?" said Mr. Weasley. "Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up."

"But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!" said Mr. Diggory impatiently. "Elf? Did you see anyone?"

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, "I is seeing no one, sir... no one..."

"Amos," said Mr. Crouch curtly, "I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her."

Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him.

"You may rest assured that she will be punished," Mr. Crouch added coldly.

"M-m-master..." Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. "M-m-master, p-p-please..."

Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze.

"Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible," he said slowly. "I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes."

"No!" shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. "No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!"

Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet.

"But she was frightened!" Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. "Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!"

Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes.

"I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me," he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. "I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and her master's reputation."

Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, "Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can— if Harry could have it back, please—"

Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it.

"Come on, you lot," Mr. Weasley said quietly, motioning for Harry, Hermione, Will, the Wiccans, and the Russos and their guest to follow him. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. "Hermione!" Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees.

"What's going to happen to Winky?" said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing.

"I don't know," said Mr. Weasley.

"The way they were treating her!" said Hermione furiously. "Mr. Diggory, calling her 'elf' all the time... and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was— it was like she wasn't even human!"

"Well, she's not," said Ron.

Hermione rounded on him. "That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way—"

"Hermione, I agree with you," said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, "but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?"

"We lost them in the dark," said Ron. "Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?"

"I'll explain everything back at the tent," said Mr. Weasley tensely.

But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward.

"What's going on in there?"

"Who conjured it?"

"Arthur— it's not— _Him_?"

"Of course it's not _Him_," said Mr. Weasley impatiently. "We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed."

As the group returned to their tents and the Russos flashed their way back home, not wanting to remain there any longer after the traumatizing events, Mr. Weasley reassured the masses that everything was okay. Lara and Daren Disapparated, leaving Will, Seth, and Delilah in the Weasley's care after the youngest Dawn managed to convince them that Delilah would be greatly upset if she woke up and was not able to confirm for herself that everyone was alright.

Afterward, Mr. Weasley explained to his kids, Harry, Will and Seth that Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters, always made the Dark Mark after killing someone.

"But what were Voldemort's supporters—" Harry began. Everybody flinched— like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," said Harry quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finished disgustedly.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" said Ron. "They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?"

"Use your brains, Ron," said Bill. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives... I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"So... whoever conjured the Dark Mark..." said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "But I'll tell you this... it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now. Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here."

Harry got into his new bunk with his head buzzing. He knew he ought to feel exhausted: it was nearly three in the morning, but he felt wide awake, and worried. Three days ago— it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days— he had awoken with his scar burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean?

He thought of the letter he had written to Sirius before leaving Privet Drive. Would Sirius have gotten it yet? When would he reply? Harry lay looking up at the canvas, but no flying fantasies came to him now to ease him to sleep, and it was a long time after Charlie's snores filled the tent that Harry finally dozed off.


	8. Strange Discoveries, Strange Prophecies

**Strange discoveries and even stranger prophecies**

**Seven days before school begins ~ Waverly Place, New York**

Justin Russo paced the family room, ready to take action. He had a clipboard tucked under his arm and a whistle hanging around his neck, so he was very prepared. He checked the clock. Twenty minutes had passed since his parents left the apartment. It was time. He glanced at his little brother, Max, who was sprawled on the sofa reading a comic book. His younger sister, Alex, sat cross-legged on the floor.

Justin picked up the telephone. "Hey, Mom," he said when his mom answered her cell phone. "Okay, so you and Dad crossed over into New Jersey, right?"

His parents were spending the afternoon at farmers' markets, buying organic tomatoes, lettuce, and other veggies for the Waverly Sub Station, the sandwich shop that they owned and ran. Justin grinned when his mom said they were long gone from the city.

"Then it's official. I'm in charge," he said proudly.

But his mother didn't agree. She wanted to know why someone needed to be in charge; all three kids were old enough to be left home alone.

Justin sighed and nudged Max's foot off the back of the sofa. Max grunted and buried his head deeper into his comic book. "Because what if there was a tidal wave or something?" Justin asked.

Alex rolled her eyes; Justin could be so dramatic sometimes!

"I know, I know, I know," Justin said to his mom. "But if there was, then would I be in charge?" He waited for the verdict. "Yes!" Justin hung up the phone and blew his whistle. "All right. I'm in charge."

Suddenly, ice-cold water splashed all over him! Justin jumped back in shock. Alex had pelted him with a water balloon!

"Oh, look, a tidal wave," Alex said, unable to control her giggles. "Now you're in charge." She turned to Max, and they bumped fists in celebration. Justin was such an easy target.

"Not funny, Alex," Justin sputtered. "This is my new sweater." He gestured toward the blue-and-navy-striped sweater he was wearing.

"Justin, when you wear it every day for a week, it's not new, it just needs a wash," Alex informed him.

But before Justin could respond, he was ambushed by another water balloon. Water soaked his left sleeve, dripping onto the floor. "Okay. I washed it," Max joked, doubling over in laughter. He gave Alex a high five. "You're welcome."

Alex laughed along with Max. She would have thought that playing pranks on Justin would be getting old by now. Funny thing was, nothing could make her and Max laugh more. Alex stood and straightened her denim miniskirt that she was wearing over her red footless tights.

"Oh, well, have a good day, guys." She headed for the front door. "I'm out of here."

"Alex! Where do you think you're going?" Justin demanded.

"I'm meeting Riley at the street fair," she told him

"You're not going to the street fair," Justin said stubbornly. "And you have to listen to me because Mom and Dad left me in charge."

"Oh, come on, Justin," Alex said. "Let loose. Most sixteen-year-old boys have fun when their parents leave town."

"Being the authority figure _is_ fun," Justin said, dragging her back to the sofa. "Now, I've prepared a wizard-training review sheet on some spells that I feel Dad hasn't covered enough in class." He handed out the days assignment.

"_'Murrieta-animata'_?" Alex read aloud. "I know this one. It's the one that makes you think you're the boss of me."

Justin giggled humorlessly. "No. _Murrieta-animata_ is a spell for making an inanimate object come to life."

She gave him a sarcastic smile. "Thanks, that's the answer. Well, I'm done with my review. See you later."

And with that said, she ran out of the apartment. Justin merely watched on as the door swung shut. Alex made him so frustrated. Didn't she understand he was in charge? Why did she always have to break the rules? He knew she'd regret it. He wasn't sure how or when. But he knew she would.

_Hey, maybe a tidal wave will hit_, he thought. _Then she'd really be surprised!_

Meanwhile, said girl stopped the moment the door shut behind her, resting a moment to catch her breath. Otherwise, she didn't really give a second thought to ditching Justin. She hurried down the stairs and out the building, then headed toward the street fair to meet up with Riley.

Even though their first date was a total disaster, Riley still wanted to hang out with her, which Alex was so relieved over since she really liked him.

When she finally spotted Riley, they smiled at each other. Then, they walked through the crowded street, which was lined with all kinds of cool booths and food carts, as Alex told him all about the latest gossip at their school, which she still wondered why she still attended, considering she never really paid attention in any of her classes and flunk them all... unless it involved magic or art.

"And then Jessica Miller told Marianna O'Shaunnesy I shouldn't be able to get out of gym if no one else could, so then Marianna said that—" Alex stopped rambling when she noticed he wasn't paying attention to her. "Riley!"

He snapped out of whatever reverie he was in and looked down at her. "What?" he asked innocently.

"You were staring at Marianna O'Shaunnesy," Alex accused.

"I wasn't staring," he denied adamantly.

"Is it because she's got bigger hips than I do?" Alex asked. "Because I think they're fake."

Riley sighed. "I was just looking, that's all." He paused. "Alex, why do you always get so jealous?"

"Just looking, huh? As in, just browsing? As in, doing a little shopping around? What are you in the market for, Riley?" she taunted. "A new girlfriend?"

But Riley was distracted again. "Hey, honey."

"You're doing it again!"

"Honey! Honey!" a salesman said, holding out honey sticks.

Riley pointed at him to prove Alex that she was wrong about him checking other girls out. "He's giving out free honey samples!" he exclaimed himself, then sighed. "I mean, come on, Alex, this is crazy." He shook his head. "I don't think we should go out anymore." And he turned to walk away.

Alex's eyes widened, and she quickly followed him; she couldn't believe it. Sure, she'd been secretly dreading this moment since they first started dating. But she'd never _really_ thought he'd do it.

"What? You're breaking up with me? But we're so good together," she said. "I mean, we have so many good memories. Remember, you, me and the penguins at the zoo?" And she waddled down the street like a penguin.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.

"I'm acting out our favorite memories," Alex said, the desperation obvious in her voice. "And then that one time when we went for a walk." She took long, exaggerated strides in front of him. "And then we went down the stairs." She pretended to descend a flight of stairs. She was sure if he could visualize the good times, then he wouldn't want them to end. "And then—"

"Alex, I'm breaking up with you."

"Okay, I'm not a very good mime. I'll admit that."

"No, it's because you're constantly jealous," Riley said.

"What? I'm _not_ constantly jealous," Alex denied. "I just really like you." _Why can't he see that?_ she wondered. _If I didn't like him so much, I wouldn't care who he looked at._

Riley shook his head. "Well, you have a funny way of showing it." He headed down the street.

"No, I don't. I'm constantly jealous. That's how I show it," Alex called after him.

As Riley continued to walk away in the other direction, Alex blinked back tears. She couldn't believe Riley had broken up with her. They were so good together. All their friends said so. But then... why? What should she do now?

Blinking back the tears, she whined, "I need hot chocolate!"

**London, England**

There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Delilah awoke two mornings after the awful events having occurred at the Quidditch World Cup. Heavy rain splattered against the slightly open window of her room as she merely turned her head in the other direction, shutting her eyes anew as though that would rid her from the pain in her chest. She couldn't remember much of what had happened before she'd lost consciousness, nor did she know how long her blank-minded slumber had been, but the ghosting feeling of a hand clutching her heart through her chest made her want to knock herself unconscious again as so to not think of it at all. Pain was not a pleasant thing to feel, and the mere thought of it made her want to puke.

After laying there, on her bed, for another twenty minutes, she heaved a sigh, then slowly pushed herself up and back to lean her back against the cushioned headboard of her bed.

Lazily wriggling her fingers, her old white board floated over to her, along with her black marker, which surprisingly still held a respectable amount of ink even after being used for four years, for the most part, over the course of the last six years. After silently uncapping her marker, she let her hand wander across the board, doodling aimlessly. After a moment, she became so lost in her thoughts, and didn't snap out of her endless reverie until someone came knocking at her door. She blinked, then glanced down at her board, letting out a small gasp when she saw what she'd drawn. Then, a startled yelp escaped her lips as an excruciating pain built in the palm of her hand and crawled its way up her arm.

She was almost in tears when her brother all but kicked the door open at the sound of her cry of pain, and rushed in with worry, tensing his slightly disheveled appearance. His eyes swept incredibly quick around the room before they settled upon his sister. He relaxed for a moment, seeing that she was finally awake, but his worry resurfaced when he noticed she seemed to be in shock and pain.

Slowly approaching her, his mouth fell slightly open upon seeing the impeccable black on white replica the colossal skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue, which had lit the night, starless sky only nights ago.

"What the hell is this?" Delilah breathed out, the pain leaving as suddenly as it came, letting her focus on her not-so-doodle doodle.

Inwardly panicking, Seth yanked the white board from his sister's hands and somehow managed to throw it out the slightly ajar window. A sheepish look rose to his face when he saw the incredulous look Delilah was giving him.

"Whoopsie," said Seth, a nervous chuckle rising from his chest. "Clumsy me."

"What the hell?!" she exclaimed herself, pushing herself forward on her bed, getting ready to stand. "Seth! What the hell was that for?! You know how much that thing mea—"

"Where are you go—"

"To get that board back. Why the hell would you throw it out the window?!" she snarled at him.

Seth was taken aback by her reaction. His sister was not a sentimental person; she rarely ever got emotional, and whenever she was caught in such state, she would growl and threaten whoever saw her to keep it to themselves; he never thought she would one day possess an object that would hold sentimental value to her.

"You can't go out there," Seth quickly objected, blocking her path to the door.

She laughed sarcastically. "And why is that? Because it's raining?" she retorted in a slightly mocking tone, very unlike her.

"Well... uh..."

All irritation left Delilah's face as she looked more closely at her brother. He was fidgeting. Nervous and panicked, and clearly hiding something from her. Seth was usually an open book, especially to his sister, but at that moment, he was an unreadable mess; he had come to her room and found she didn't remember exactly what had happened the other night, right after the Quidditch Cup, and he wanted to keep it that way. What had happened was considerably an awfully gruesome night terror, and he had already witnessed once before the way she reacted to her own memories. It was heart-wrenching to see a kind, beautiful girl lose the small bit of happiness from her face and have it replaced with tears of pain and anger.

"That drawing," she began quietly. "You've seen that thing recently, haven't you?" Of course she would manage to see right through him eventually. She always did. Looking more closely into his eyes which were an eerie reflection of her own, she said, "The Quidditch Cup."

Seth groaned softly. "You read my mind, didn't you?" he said weakly, defeatedly glancing down at his feet.

"No," she replied. "You're just more of an open book than I'll ever be. You need to fix that. People can use that against you, and in this world, for people our kind... that's the worst thing that one can let happen to themself."

She took a step closer to her brother and placed a hand under his chin, lifting his face upward to he was looking at her.

"What happened, Seth?"

It was moments like these, when she spoke softly to him and, although remaining rather stoic, emitted a warm and comforting aura that consumed him to the core, that made him feel like a little boy wanting nothing more but to hold onto his older sister as tightly as he could and never let go. For as long as he could remember remembering, he had always wondered what his mother was and looked like, and what it felt like to have a mother. Lara was around, but she never stayed permanently with them, only visiting every once in a while, so he never knew what it was truly like to have a mother.

When he met Delilah for the first time, he knew the rumors were right of her resemblance to their mother. He'd seen old photographs, and if he didn't know any better, he would've thought they were the same person, or perhaps a doppelgänger of the other. As he got to know her, he came to realize that, although his sister and mother looked alike, they were completely different from one another. Sure, as he'd heard, he could confirm that they were both kind. But even their kindness was at two completely different levels.

From what he had learned from his Uncle Daren, Ella-Grace Dawn was the kindest person you could ever come across. Whether you were good or evil, she was always polite and genuinely kind far before she even knew you. Her kindness came naturally to her.

Delilah was, admittedly, unintentionally kind. Like her mother, her kindness came naturally to her. Still and all, Delilah was rather picky when it came to choosing who deserved her kindness and who didn't. She had a good judgment of character, and so she always somehow managed to show kindness to, even, the most horrible people. Perhaps she sought signs of possible redemption in every likely foe, and so they turned into frenemies rather opponents.

Draco Malfoy was a great example that.

Another similar thing between the mother and daughter was their determination to keep everyone safe at the risk of their own life. _That_ was why Seth did not want to tell his sister what had happened the other night; if she knew, she would coddle him and everyone who is dear to her and would do everything she could to find who had attempted to hurt them and fought them till death, so long as whoever it is she fought died along with her so they wouldn't hurt her loved ones.

Delilah's eyes steeled as she tried hard not to read her brother's mind, not wanting to invade his personal thoughts. Suddenly, however, her vision began to cloud before her, her surroundings molding in on each other, everything fading into darkness before she was once again lost in a memory.

_A tiny, slightly chubby hand reached up and patted the top of an old man's head, the owner of the small arm babbling nonsense as the child did not know how to speak proper words yet. The old man, who wouldn't have been thought to be as old as he was if it weren't for his gray hair, grabbed the small hand, chuckling, and brought it down to his lips, placing a kiss on it as gently as possible as though she would break if he'd proceeded harder._

_"Yes, I am tall, aren't I?" he mumbled, his cornflower colored eyes staring with love and sorrow into her orange-pink morning glory begonian orbs, which were filled with curiosity as they looked at him._

_"Labor does that to one's body," he continued, caressing the child's cheek. "Just like difficulties strengthen the mind."_

_The girl stared at him for a moment, head tilted to one side, before she reached her free hand and patted her own head, as if saying that she was tall as well, even though she was but a baby girl._

_He chuckled. "If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?"_

_She pouted slightly and began to babble. After a few moments, it seemed her mind had simply dismissed the height ordeal and was now struck on magic as she was flicking her hand as though she were waving a wand. The old man chuckled again, understanding what she was trying to say. He brought his wand out and waved it a tad bit, murmuring, "Lumos." A narrow beam of light appeared withing seconds and shone from tip of his wand, like a torch._

_The baby girl's mouth dropped open as she stared at the light in awe._

_"I know, magic does have its beauty," he mumbled, his smile turned bemused, as she reached out a hand toward the light. "But, magic is also dangerous."_

_She looked back at him, tilting her head to the side, as she gazed at him with confusion and curiosity, as though she were asking how magic could possibly be dangerous. She frowned and pointed at the lit wand._

_He sighed. "I know you're but a baby, but you and I both know― everybody knows you're smarter than the regular baby, so remember this Delilah: magic is dangerous― it always comes with a price. And sometimes― most of the time... the price is..." He swallowed hard before saying, "Death."_

_"Erick?!"_

_The old man's head snapped up, his smiling face dropping into an alarmed look. Standing at the door of the room was his wife, a breathtakingly beautiful woman with violet-orchidee eyes and long, light brown, slightly reddish hair stroke with gray of age._

_Her breathing was ragged and heavy, her eyes tearing up. "They're here. He's here. They've all come to end her. We can't let them―"_

_"I know," he cut her off. "Send a signal to Ella. Let her know to come as quickly as possible. We might not be here anymore, but that doesn't mean Delilah won't."_

_Eloisa nodded her head shakily; it had been so long since she'd felt genuine fear for, not only herself, but also someone else. Then, she ran out of the room, leaving her husband to have one last moment of privacy with their granddaughter. Delilah, the baby girl, reached her tiny hand up and caught the lone tear that trickled down his cheek as if to tell him not to go. He grabbed her tiny hand in his and softly kissed it. She frowned, she could tell he was going to leave her, but she didn't want him to leave._

_"I have to, I'm sorry," he whispered, letting go of her hand and placing her gently in her crib._

_Delilah tried to reach out for him, tears threatening to fall from her eyes that were no longer orange-pink morning glory begonian, but a dull violet lunara. It was a beautiful color for a girl's eyes, but its beauty wasn't something to think about when the reason behind the eye color transfiguration was evident; though she was a baby, she understood something really bad was happening, or, at least, was going to happen. She knew she was going to lose something, and something inside of her told her her grandparents were that something._

_"Magic is dangerous, princess," he repeated. "That is why one must always sacrifice themself."_

_Her frown never left, though it did turn somewhat desperate as she kept trying to reach out for him. By now, she was no longer laying in her crib, but sitting. Whatever sacrifice was, she knew it was bad; she didn't want him to do it. She didn't want him to sacrifice himself._

_"Don't worry, Delilah― don't look at it as a sacrifice. After all, it's not sacrifice if you love what you are doing. If you choose to do something, then you should not call it a sacrifice, because it was nothing but a willing gesture towards someone you love."_

_Grabbing her small hand and kissing it one last time, he reluctantly let go of her and backed away towards the exit, turning his back to her as soon as he reached the door as he couldn't bear looking at the broken look on the three-month-old baby._

_She began to cry somewhat soundlessly as the door closed. Why did he leave her?_

_"Tom... don't do this," she could hear her grandfather say._

_"Don't tell me what to do or not do," hissed an unfamiliar voice. Delilah pushed herself to her feet and wobbled her way to the railing of her crib and held onto it, her tears still falling as she stared at the dim light that shone through the space under the door._

_Then came her grandmother's voice. "Tom, she's just a baby—"_

_Her grandfather was cut off mid-sentence, and now, for what felt like forever, all that could be heard was but an utter silence. Delilah leaned forward in anticipation; her cries had stopped, but her tears were still falling._

_The door suddenly slammed open, a dark cloaked figure standing there, staring at her with empty eyes._

_He raised a hand, holding a stick that looked an awful lot like a wand, and hissed, "Avada Kedavra."_

_His words were followed by a blinding flash of green light that shaped itself into a rather frightening skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. A rushing noise followed suite, and an excruciating pain Delilah had never felt before that reached the left side of her neck; that was the last thing Delilah saw, heard and felt that night before everything around her dimmed and went black._

Delilah's eyes snapped open, a small gasp escaping her lips as her sight cleared before her, meeting the worried eyes of her little brother. Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened, watering with tears upon the remembering that event from so long ago, as well as remembering what had happened the other night. She did not complain or protest when her brother immediately pulled her into his arms and held her gently yet tightly, trying to bring her as much comfort as he could.

They remained so for a while, having barely moved, only to settle onto the floor at Delilah's bedside. After a moment, Seth used his magic to levitate the white board he'd thrown out the window to bring it back to her room. Neither said anything else for a long while, til eventually they couldn't either way, for the siblings had gradually dozed off into sleep, neither letting go of the other.

**Waverly Place, New York**

"Okay, I'm done with my wizard homework," Max told Justin the next day. He handed his paper to his older brother. "Can I watch TV now?" he asked as he hopped off the sofa and looked for the remote control.

"Sit," Justin commanded. "Let me check it." He sat in the chair next to the sofa, pulled the pencil off his clipboard, and studied Max's work. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh," he said after reading each answer. "Hmm. Yes." He handed the paper back to his brother. "You might want to look at spell number five."

"I got spell five wrong?" Max asked.

Justin snorted. "No. Spell five is the only one you got right," he said.

Max stuck his tongue out. "You're meaner than Dad."

"Thank you." Justin decided to take this as a compliment. His dad was a good magic teacher. "Okay. You need to think harder about the _Murrieta-animata_ spell. If you leave animated objects animated too long, then they develop emotions."

Max picked up one of Justin's boxed action figures from the coffee table. Justin loved action figures. "You mean if I turn this doll into a person, it'd feel bad about being stuck in the box?" Max asked, waving the box in the air.

"Don't touch that!" Justin cried. He snatched the box from Max. "That's Calico Woman in her Legion of the Superladies uniform. They only made a thousand of these lovely ladies." He looked at the box lovingly. "Isn't that right, Calico Woman?"

"So what you're saying is, there's nine hundred ninety-nine other guys who couldn't get a girl to talk to them," Max joked.

"Don't listen to him," Justin whispered to Calico Woman. His brother had a lot to learn— about magic... and about action figures.

**Six days before school begins**

Alex sat on their living room couch the next day, a magazine in hand and a thoughtful look on her face when Justin walked over and showed her a leather jacket. There parents were back from their two day trip, and so the two siblings had much more free time, so Justin began preparing himself to go out for the day.

"Okay, what do you think is cooler for my date? Leather jacket? Or this hoodie?"

"You got a date?" his sister asked, seemingly impressed.

He nodded. "And I'm really nervous, so please tell me which one of these will make me look cool and not nervous."

"Oh, let's see." Alex put the magazine aside, jumped to her feet, grabbed the leather jacket and examined it. "Nice leather... or what if we..." She glanced over at the hoodie Justin was already wearing and pulled hood up. "Good..." She tied it close in his face.

"Aargh!" Justin exclaimed.

"Yep, I'd go with the hoodie!" Alex exclaimed herself as she plopped herself back down onto the sofa.

"Take it easy; I'm a mouth breather!" Justin grumbled as he untied the hood from his face and sat down.

"I can't believe you let your Wiztech buddy set you up on a blind date," said his sister. "And all you know from her is what you've learned from her profile on Wizface."

"You haven't even seen her; she's hot!" Justin was quick to defend his possible future girlfriend. "And she's into all the same things that I'm into."

Alex snorted. "Puh-lease. Listen, everybody's hot on Wizface, because they don't show their real picture, and they lie about what they're into. What picture did she see of you?"

"Oh, I don't think pictures capture my essence, that's why I posted a complicated mathematical equation." Alex gave him a blank stare. "Come check it out."

Alex moved over beside Justin as he opened the page on his computer.

"Oh, I get it. Because you're hard to figure out, no one cares enough to try," Alex said teasingly, earning a sarcastic laugh from her brother as she leaned forward and clicked through some other pages of his Wizface profile. "What other embarrassing things do you have on your embarrassing page?" After a long moment, she snorted again. "Oh, my gosh! I can't believe you posted that picture of you and that centaur. Don't you wish she had told you she was half horse and half girl before you asked her to Wiztech prom?"

Justin shrugged. "I saved a lot on the limo."

Alex shrugged and sighed. "I am just saying. People or horses are not always honest on Wizface."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and Justin stood quickly to go and answer.

"OK, that's Isabella now," he said, starting for the door. "I guarantee you; she looks exactly like her picture on Wizface."

When Justin opened the door, Alex jumped in her seat and bit her lip, fighting back a laugh upon seeing an older woman standing on the other side of the door. The lady was somewhat pretty, but clearly far too old for her brother.

"Is this the Russo residence?"

Before answering, Justin looked back at Alex guilt-ridden, and Alex responded with a crazy laugh on her face.

"Hi," Justin said ever so shyly as he handed the woman a decorative object. "... here's your floral bracelet."

The woman took the bracelet, regarding the boy with confused eyes. "Thanks... and here's the mail that came to my apartment by accident."

Alex clamped a hand over her mouth to hide her silent laughter as she watched her brother awkwardly take then letters from the woman. As the latter was just about to leave, Justin called her back and quickly swiped the bracelet from her hand before closing the door.

"Phewf," the boy exhaled in relief, plopping himself down onto the couch.

"I wouldn't 'phew' so fast," Alex said. "At least that lady only had _two _legs."

The doorbell then rang for a second time.

Justin stood quickly to go answer it. "Okay, I'm sure Isabella is normal," he said defensively. He then halted in his step and turned around upon remembering something. "Oh, forgot the floral bracelet."

As he walked back to get it, Alex jumped up and opened the door, revealing a very pretty young girl standing on the other side. The girl smiled hesitantly upon seeing Alex.

"Hi, I'm Isabella, is Justin here?"

Alex grimaced in disappointment. "Oh, well you're cute, boo!" was all she said before turning and walking toward the kitchen, not bothering to close the door or even the invite the girl in.

The girl looked on at the figure standing in the middle of the living room with their back to her, their face hidden under the hood of a gray sweater.

"Justin?"

Justin glanced over at her from where he stood near the couch, his face shielded by his tightened hood.

"Isabella..." he said a bit hesitantly, before quickly snapping out of his momentary daze as he undid his hood and walked toward the girl by the door. "Wow. You're even prettier than your pictures on Wizface."

Isabella smiled and mused, "And you, don't look anything like x=y2 over a cosign of pi."

Justin grinned widely at her. "I know, everyone says that! So nice to meet you," he told her as he ushered her in. "And even nicer for you to meet my sister Alex, who thinks she knows everything!" As he said that, he gestured toward Isabella, looking pointedly at his sister, while the former smiled at Alex, not noticing Justin's hand gestures. "Here, take a seat. I'll go get you some of your favorite diet Wiz-Fizz. You know the soda. I remember it from your profile."

Justin ran up a spiral staircase that led towards the bedrooms upstairs as Isabella plopped down onto the long sofa in the living room. Standing by the kitchen island counter, Alex stared at the girl on the couch a moment longer before rolling her eyes, bored of staying there any longer.

"Well, this was fun," she said, a bit too sarcastically as she walked around the counter and headed toward Isabella. "Can you pass me my sweater please?"

With the bark of a dog sounding, Isabella grabbed the sweater from the coffee table in her mouth. She turned back over the couch, with the sweater hanging from her mouth, earning herself a weird look from Alex.

"Erm... okay..." the brunette went to grab her sweater, but Isabella wouldn't let go.

Alex tugged on the sweater, but Isabella merely tugged from her side. The little tug of war went on a couple more times before Alex, eventually, managed to tug her sweater free from Isabella's mouth.

"Now that was fun!" the latter exclaimed herself excitedly.

"Really? 'Cause my word was awkward," Alex retorted before hurrying out of the apartment.

Little less than an hour later, Alex found herself getting bored and annoyed as she watched her brother; she had been spying on Justin and Isabella, trying to figure out what the girl was hiding. It was undoubtedly something big that she didn't want to reveal it on her Wizface profile.

"Ow!" she suddenly grunted as her body phased out of a tree someone had just stapled a poster on.

She had been spying on her older brother and his girlfriend as a tree. She yanked the poster off and rubbed the spot it had been stapled to on her torso, a pout jutting out of her lips. At that same moment, her little brother walked by with a friend of his, both walking a dog.

The young boy looked at his sister excitedly and approached her. "Hey, Alex! We're getting cups on a chain so we can drink around our necks!"

Alex momentarily faked a laugh before telling him ever so seriously, "Well, Justin's girlfriend's a dog," she decided. "Watch." She stepped in the middle of a frisbee game and asked the pair of friends playing, "Hey, guys. Can I play?"

Neither boy saw any wrong in it, so the one holding the frisbee hand the object over to her.

"Thanks," she said distractedly. Pointing over at Isabella who was standing by a bubbler with Justin, she called out to the girl, "Yo, Isabella! Go fetch!"

She throws the frisbee and Isabella instantly chased after it, catching it in her mouth. Justin went to Alex's side as a puzzled Max walked away with his friend and dog.

"Hey, Alex. Isn't Isabella great?" the boy said with a content smile. "She's so... so athletic, and friendly. She says 'hello,' to everyone in the park!"

"Yeah," Alex faked another small laugh before getting straight to the point. "Your girlfriends' a dog."

"What are you talking about? She's beautiful! You just hate that we're perfect for each other."

"She put my sweater in her mouth and played tug of war with me! Isabella is hiding something," Alex deadpanned.

"Oh, you just don't like the fact that I'm falling in love! Yeah. Yeah, I am, I'm falling in love!" Justin said, though it sounded more like he was trying to himself more than his sister.

"She ate a dog biscuit like it was a chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven," Alex insisted. "She jumped in the air and caught a plastic flying disk in her mouth!"

"We both love catching plastic flying disks in our mouth," Justin defended his girlfriend. "That's one of the many things we have in common."

Alex gave her older brother an incredulous look. "You can't catch a plastic flying disk in your mouth— you can't catch a plastic flying disk in your hands!"

Justin huffed at the insult. "Oh, yeah?" To prove his point, he turned toward the guys playing frisbee, who also happened to be boys from his grade in school. "Hey, Gunner, hit me!"

As Justin bent down into position, with his mouth open and his hands out, the frisbee came flying at him and hit him in the forehead as it fell to the ground.

Justin forced a laugh as he stood straighter, trying to brush it off as if nothing wrong had just happened. "Good throw!" Turning back to his sister, he looked down at her worriedly, a clear look of pain in his eyes as he pointed at his forehead. "Am I bleeding?"

Back in the Russo's living room, twenty minutes later, Isabella was lying on the grown, playing with the fur on the carpet. Meanwhile, Justin was sitting on the couch with an ice pack on his forehead, his sister hovering over him with an exasperated look on her face.

With a roll of her eyes, she yanked the ice pack from his hand and threw it onto the coffee table. The boy began to protest, but she merely cut him off with a glare and a reply full of sarcasm.

"The swelling's going down; you cried it out... you're gonna live."

She plopped down onto the armchair nearby and shifted her focus down to girl on the floor. "Now, Isabella. Did you leave out one piece of crucial information out on your Wizface page," she started her phrasing kindly, before just bluntly skipping to the point. "Like the fact that you're a dog?"

Justin groaned in irritation toward his sister. "That's ridiculous! I wouldn't be ready to commit myself to Isabella, without having a pretty good idea, of who she is." However, the hesitation did not get away as he thought back to the many times his sister had unfortunately been right. Looking down at Isabella, he asked her, "You're not a dog, are you?"

The girl chuckled and shook her head. "No."

Justin grinned triumphantly back at his sister. "See!"

"I'm a werewolf!"

The two Russos stared at the smiling girl, both in shock. After a long moment, Alex chuckled, her gaze shifting between the very nonchalant girl on the floor and her still very shocked brother.

"Well, I did not see that coming," she said, her amusement at the situation breaking the shock she had previously been in.

"So what!" Justin suddenly said, trying to brush off the pause that had clearly shown he was shocked. His cracking voice, however, did not help him in the convincing department. "Not seeing things coming is the roller coaster of love."

Alex had no doubt her brother was trying his hardest to convince himself that he felt as he was saying.

"And I'm strapped in, ready for the ride. Today I find out my girlfriends' a werewolf... yay!"

And the amusement did not stop pouring— her brother looked just about ready to cry, and she was ready to make fun of him if he did.

"How many other guys can say that?"

"Well... none. 'Cause I'm guessing anyone who can say that has been eaten," she replied with a chuckle.

"That's a stereo type," Isabella suddenly said. "We're actually very loving."

Justin gave her a strained smile. "I sense that about you."

Alex rolled her eyes and stood, getting really irritated with her brother's irationality— usually she was the irrational one. "Oh, Justin, come on! Just admit it. You don't know anything about her."

Justing stood in his turn. "Oh Alex, I can't believe your level of jealousy," he said, earning a weird look from his sister. "I just hope that one day, you can be as happy as we are!"

By now, Isabella was standing up by Justin, and finishing his speech off, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Isabella looked at Justin and smiled at him. "Oh, Justin! There _is _just one more thing that you should know about me."

Justin gave her a bright smile. "Yes, my love?"

"When you kiss a werewolf, you turn into a werewolf!"

Justin smirked with unsettlement, Alex hid her disbelief by covering her mouth.

"... ah... perfect." Pacing back and forth behind the couch, Justin began to ramble in his panic. "Oh, my gosh, this is going to be so painful! As my genetic structure is changing, as my spine shifts from human to canine, as my hands elongate and become lupine waiting for the claws to shoot out of my fingernails!"

He gasped and dramatically fell to the ground behind the couch he had been standing beside. He raised his hand and screamed, "I love you, Isabella!"

The girl merely smiled at his reaction, finding it more adorable than weird. "That's another stereo type," she reassured him, "The change is pretty fast and painless."

There was a moment's pause before Justin popped his head from behind the couch to reveal his suddenly very hairy face— he had a beard of black hair shooting off his chin and up the sides of his face, and his sister found it hilarious.

"Really?"

Isabella's face was transformed by now as she nodded over at him. Staring at both of them, Alex felt herself rather accomplished despite the sudden— confusing— turn of events of her brother becoming a werewolf upon kissing one.

How the hell does that happen?

She shrugged, not really caring anymore. "Oh, well, my job here is done!" she exclaimed herself, making her way over to the kitchen.

Justin looked after her, panicked, then rushed after her. "Alex!" he called out to her in a whisper. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, don't ask me," she shrugged him off. "I proved you guys don't know each other, my work is done."

**London, England**

"Okay, that's bull crap!"

"Joseph, watch your tongue," Delilah playfully chided her brother in a perfect imitation of Mrs. Weasley.

The boy sitting by the foot of the long sofa rolled his eyes at his sister. "Oh, please, don't tell me you don't agree with me."

"I never said I disagree." She shifted her gaze toward her uncle. "You're shitting us, right?"

Daren chuckled, amused by the siblings' choice of words. "I'm afraid it's true."

"But how does that work?" Will chimed in. "Someone turning someone else into a werewolf with just a kiss? That's impossible!"

"That's magic," Lara retorted from where she sat on a chair beside Daren's armchair.

Delilah rolled her eyes at the lame response. "So what's next? There's such thing as sparkling vampires?" She laughed with her brother and his best friend.

Daren and Lara shared a look at this, a look that did not go unnoticed by the young witchy hybrid.

"You're shitting me!"

Lara cringed at the girl's choice of words. "Can we please stop mentioning sh—"

"How in Tartarus does _that _happen?"

"There are many different kinds of most magical creatures in existence," Lara said. "Take Wiccans, for example. Wicca is a general term of a different kind of witchcraft."

"Why do we call Wiccans... Wiccans, then?" Will asked.

"Because it's easier to generalize those practicing it, rather than calling them by what type of witch or wizard they are."

"It also happens to be less offensive," Lara added.

"What type of Wiccans are we then?" asked Seth, leaning his back against his sister's leg.

"Well, there are Pagans..."

The young trio merely blinked at the vague response.

"Isn't pagan another general term for Wiccan users?" Delilah said quietly, her fingers absentmindedly reaching out to twirl one of her brother's thick locks that had already started to grow longer.

"Let me have my smart moment!"

Delilah raised her hands in a fake-surrendering motion as Seth and Will laughed, while Daren chuckled at his cousin.

"We are polytheist pagans," Lara said. "The eldest Wicca practitioners."

"What's poly... that other word you said before? What's it mean?" Will asked.

"It's the belief in and veneration of multiple gods and goddesses," Delilah answered him, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "In our case the belief in... Hekate... mostly. Right? She's the goddess of magic and the night."

"That's right," Daren agreed. "Legend has it that millenniums ago, when the goddess had descended from her home to visit the mortal world below, monsters from the underworld had intercepted her trip and began to attack her."

"A young girl from a family of hunters saved her life," Lara continued. "And so to thank her, the goddess gave her and her family power like nothing anyone had ever seen: magic."

"Like technology, though, magic evolved plenty since then," said Daren. "It's parted into different religions, as well as different types of magic altogether. The ones that remain the most powerful are the Eclectic Pagans. They have a more... individual approach toward magic that picks and chooses from many different traditions and creates a personalized form of witchcraft that meets their individual needs and abilities."

"They do not follow a particular religion or tradition, but study and learn from many different systems and use what works best for them," Lara added.

"And then there's us," said Delilah.

"Us..." Seth and Will echoed softly.

"How dangerous is our magic?"

Daren saw the worried and frightened look in her eyes and instantly swallowed what he was bluntly about to reply. "... it's powerful, let's leave it at that."

Seth glanced up behind him at his sister and watched worriedly as she bit her lower lip while momentarily staring down at her lap, brows furrowed and plump lips pursed.

"Yeah," she scoffed softly. "Powerful enough to have us hunted down to extinction."

**Waverly Place, New York**

Back at the Russo's house, outside on the deck, Justin was in a barrel full of a liquid which looked similar to milk. Alex and Max were sitting on the steps watching as Jerry poured in the final spoonfuls, with a very worried Theresa hovering behind him. Behind Alex sat her friend Harper, who boredly looking through the Russo's wizard mail.

"Dad, this is embarrassing," said Justin, glaring at his siblings and Harper, all three who kept giggling every five to ten seconds.

"I know," Jerry replied, a nonchalant smile brightening his face. "It's a potion, and a punishment, all in one!"

"I don't think it's working," said Max. "He's still hairy."

"Well, I'm cool, as long as he doesn't use my brush," Alex said with a laugh, half-jokingly.

Harper chuckled along with her friend before looking up Jerry. "Mr. Russo? Are you sure it's a bathing potion?" she asked, accidentally dropping an envelope from the pile of mail she was going through. "I mean, I know I don't know much about this magic stuff, but aren't most potions drinkable?"

"Yeah, since the change is more inside of Justin than out, maybe he has to drink the potion to cure what he's got inside, and that, in turn, will cure his werewolf hairiness too," Max chimed in, causing everyone to stare at him, stunned.

"That has got to the smartest thing you have ever said," Alex told him, absentmindedly picking the envelope her friend had dropped, before turning to look back at her father. "Dad, if Max said something smart, it's right. He's gotta drink it."

Jerry frowned, hesitant, before glancing down at the book in his hands, reading over the recipe he had concocted. "Oh... maybe you do drink it." He read it through again, then chuckled. "Yep, it's a drinking potion."

Theresa looked at her husband in disbelief. "What? You mean I didn't have to scrape the egg shells and coffee grounds out of the bottom of that thing?"

The man had the audacity to laugh again. "Yeah, looks like we learned a couple of things today."

Theresa glared at Jerry. "Yeah, Justin learned not to trust people on Wizface, and you learned what the word 'ingest' means."

"I thought it meant 'joking,'" Jerry replied defensively.

"Am I supposed to drink my own bath water?" Justin asked, his face scrunched in disgust.

Alex and Max momentarily glanced at each other, sharing a mischievous grin, before they turned back toward their older brother and began to cheer him into drinking the potion. "Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Closing his eyes, Justin went under and a few moments later came back up with his face as normal.

"Ah, I think I swallowed an egg shell!"

Justin looked around, embarrassed, as Harper, Max, and Jerry laughed, while Theresa took a sigh of relief. While the others were enjoying themselves, Alex tore through the letter she was holding, her eyes widening with excitement, upon reading its content.

"Dad! Can we go to Wiztech this year?"

The man stopped chuckling at his son's embarrassment upon hearing this and gave his daughter a curious look. "What?"

"Also, what's a Triwizard and a... NeoWigan? Tournament."

**Two days before school begins ~ ****London, England**

**Delilah's P.O.V.**

There were red droplets splattered across my handkerchief after I had coughed in it. I couldn't even stop to think why this was— why this was suddenly happening to me— as the coughing took over me again.

"Bloody hell, Deli," Clary's voice came from behind me. "Are you sure you're going to be 'lright for the night?"

I quickly hid my handkerchief in the pocket of my trousers. "I'll be fine," I spoke softly, as to not strain my voice. "It's just a little cough. I think I breathed in some dust from the tray locket."

From the corner of my eyes, I could tell Clary did not believe me by the way she was shaking her head, amused, and rolling her eyes. "You would've sneezed."

"If I sneezed, it would've meant I was sick, and I don't get sick."

"Sure, you don't."

"Hey, it's true!"

"Right," Clary chuckled. "The mayor's just arrived with his kid. Can you serve his table?"

"Sure," I replied, letting her lead me to the doors of the kitchen.

We peered through the circular window from the big white kitchen doors and looked out at the crowd of famished people, some already digging into their served meals, others waiting to be served. I finally caught sight of Sir Christopher Walford, the mayor of London. Beside him sat a woman I could easily recognize to be his wife, but then on his other was a young man. There was no sight of a little boy I was expecting to see.

What the hell? "Clary, you told me the mayor had a little boy!"

The woman had the audacity to look amused and chuckle at me. "He _is_ little... compared to me."

"Yeah, because you're _so _tall," I deadpanned sarcastically, staring down at the short woman.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, you know what I mean," she retorted. "Now go serve that table."

"No! There's a boy sitting at that table."

"So?"

"_So_? I will not serve a table where a boy— who is not such much a boy, but a _young _man— is sitting. They tend to stare at me in a way that creeps the hell out of me."

"Deli," Clary sighed. "The others are taken, so you'll have to endure this once. Just once, alright? I won't make you do it ever again. And if it makes you feel any better, your uncle and aunt, and your brother are here."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better— what are they even doing here?"

"They came with a friend of yours. Her... Hermeeone? They said it was because she wanted to meet the mayor."

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Her-mi-o-ne," I corrected her pronunciation. "Only she would make up such an excuse," I grumbled, running a hand through my somewhat decently styled hair— I had to look presentable in front of the mayor somehow.

I threw my head back and gazed at the ceiling in exasperation before clearing my throat, looking back the door and taking the notepad and pen from Clary's hands; it seems I have no other choice.

"Alright, I'm going in."

The mayor was a very decent man. He was old and heightingly shortened from age, but his physique could never surpass his kindness and wisdom. His wife— oh, the woman was ever so lovely. I have never been complimented so much in my entire life as I was in the three minutes I spoke with her. Their son, on the other hand... however polite he was, he made me very uncomfortable speaking in a subtly suggestive tone his parents seemed completely oblivious to.

Oh, what a night this was going to be.

**Seth's P.O.V.**

I wanted to break that man's jaw. It irked me how familiar he thought he could act around my sister. I doubted she even knew he was flirting with her, but it was clear he was making her uncomfortable, and that only made me dislike him even more.

"What are you frowning about now?" I was suddenly snapped out of my murdering thoughts toward the man by Hermione's voice.

I turned to look at her and blushed slightly— by no means did I have a crush on Hermione, but she really did know how to clean up well. When she really put herself up to it, she could really make her beauty spring out from its usual subtly, much like my sister could.

"You seem to be doing that a lot, lately," said Hermione.

My brows furrowed at her words. "Doing what?"

"Frowning," she said simply. "You should stop— you'll get frown lines."

I snorted. "You do remember who my sister is, right?"

Hermione chuckled. "It's kind of hard to forget when she's my best friend."

"Hey, Hermione, can you pass me a bread stick?" Will asked.

My sister's friend chuckled again, in that way mature people tended to chuckle at kids in amusement as she passed him the basket of bread sticks. Uncle Daren grabbed one while it was being passed.

"Don't fill yourself with bread sticks," Aunt Lara chided him, gently slapping his shoulder. "We're gonna be served soon."

Right on cue, I caught my sister heading our way, her eyes stuck on the notepad she was writing on. She stopped right at our table and began to welcome us with the same speech I heard the other waiters and waitresses giving other customers.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she spoke kindly, though before she could go on with her speech, her eyes shifted from her notepads to us, and her clearly forced, kind smile morphed into a scowl. "Oh, Jesus, Hekate, gods," she grumbled. "Why are you people here?"

"I came to meet the mayor," Hermione instantly said.

Delilah rolled her eyes and sighed. "I know _that_, Herme," she said. "And the rest of you?"

"We wanted to enjoy the apparently amazing performances One Mayfair offers," said Uncle Daren.

Delilah scoffed. "Oh, please, you just want to see me embarrass myself."

Aunt Lara laughed at this. "Yeah, we do!"

I frowned at her. "No, we do not," I objected. "We came to support you." Then, motioning toward Hermione, I added, "And to meet the mayor."

I hadn't noticed the frown was still on my face until my sister's gentle fingers smoothed the creasing lines between my brows. "Stop frowning," she said. "People will start mistaking you for me."

I smiled slightly at that, in spite of myself. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

I nodded my head toward the table she had come from. Following my gaze, she glanced over her shoulder, and the scowl returned to her face before she shrugged me off.

"It's nothing I can't handle," she said. "Now, what would you guys like to eat tonight?"

Before any of us could answer her, another waitress, dressed as a maid, rushed over, a nervous look on her face. "Deli! Lilah! Delilah!" she sang softly, pulling my sister away from our table. "Clary needs you."

"Not right now, Lisa, I have to—"

"I'll take care of it," she told my sister with a nervous smile.

Delilah sighed. "Alright, fine. Have them served generously, though," she warned.

She patted my head gently, then shared a look with Hermione before turning on her heels and ever so gracefully walked to the other end of the enormous auditorium-like room we were in to a couple of doors I could only assume lead to the kitchens. She was gone for such a long time that when she resurfaced in the room, we were already being served our meals, and Delilah being unnoticeably forced up onto the stage, now wearing an outfit that covered much less of her body than I knew she likes to reveal.

She was being pushed and pulled by two guys and two girls.

"Why do I have to do this? I don't sing!" I heard her grumble.

"Because Eli is sick, and you're the only other person who knows the lyrics to the songs," the girl I recognized as Lisa, the waitress who had ended up serving us, replied with a grunt. "God, how are you this strong?!"

"I am determined to not go on stage, _that_'s how!" my sister retorted.

I could tell Will, my uncle and aunt had noticed this too as they turned to look the same way I was looking. Hermione, noticing our distracted looks, found what we were looking at and hummed in amusement.

"What's going on?"

"I think they're trying to get her to sing," said Will.

"Come on, Deli!"

"No! I told you, I can't sing!"

"Sure you can," one of the guys told her. He was a seemingly nice-looking fellow with dark skin and long braided hair. He was also tall, with a strong built, that I was surprised it took him, another guy and two girls to pull and push my sister.

"Not everyone can sing!" she objected.

"Not everyone can sing _well_," the guy corrected her as they finally managed to pull her on stage.

The room suddenly darkened, then, before my sister could run off, a light suddenly hit the stage, encircling her and the dark-skinned guy.

My sister looked very pretty, though I could tell by the grimace she was fighting, that the black heeled boots were not the only thing making her uncomfortable. The dress she wore was a deep purple color, with a sort of crocodile texture embossed in the metallic material. It was asymmetrically folded across the front and back, only having one strap as a sleeve, diagonally covering her chest up to her right shoulder. The dress was, although seemingly flexible, tight against her body, stopping right above her knees.

They were introduced to the public by the other guy that had been pushing her, before the dark-skinned one settled on the bench behind the grand piano in the center of the stage and Delilah was given a wireless microphone.

I watched as she nervously glanced back at the pianist, but relaxed a tad bit when he smiled at her reassuringly.

A soft, slightly jazzy tune began to play, followed by the guy— Andrew's voice. He sang no words, but his voice seemed to belong with the music he was playing as it flowed softly across the whole restaurant.

Suddenly, a seemingly softer, female voice took over. It surprised me to find it to be my sister who owned such a pretty and rich voice.

"_The situation turns around..._"

I always thought her voice was quite soothing when she didn't speak out of anger or stress.

"_... enough to figure out that someone else has let you down so many times, I don't know why..._"

Her voice was naturally soft and melodic, but now it just reached a whole other level of soothing.

I watched, completely forgetting the plate of delicious food in front of me, relishing the genuine smile curling onto Delilah's lips as she let herself relax and flow with the music. "_But I know we can make it, as long as you say it! So tell me that you love me, yeah!_"

She glanced at Andrew and smiled at the toothy grin he sent her before joining in the chorus. "_And tell me that I take your breath away_." Another waiter walked up and helped her sit on the piano, where she crossed her legs and leaned back. "_And maybe if you take one more, then I would know for sure there's nothing left to say. Tell me that you love me anyway._"

I was quite an unexpected sight when Delilah jumped off the piano and walked down from the stage and began to a journey from table to table, singing to the customers the lovely song that poured from her mouth like a waterfall of the cleanest water.

"_Waking up beside yourself and what you feel inside is being shared with someone else._" She smiled kindly at an old couple before walking up to the very stiff looking bodyguard standing nearby. She did a little silly dance and flipped his tie around. "_Nowhere to hide, I don't know why,_" she continued, cracking a smile out of him.

"_But I know we can make it... as long as you say it!_" She skipped a step and did a little jump, smiling brightly at a pair of little girls who stared up at her with bright smiles full of awe. "_So tell me that you love me, yeah!_"

Her bright smile did not fade as she came over to our table. She grabbed hold of Hermione's hand and squeezed it gently before throwing an arm around my shoulders. "_And tell me that I take your breath away_." She kissed my cheek before straightening up and ruffling Will's hair before making her way back toward the stage. "_And maybe if you take one more, then I would know for sure there's nothing left to say. Tell me that you love me anyway._"

The same waiter standing by the stage helped her up onto the instrument again. "_Show me__—__ look what we found._" She twisted her body so she lay on the piano, smiling down at Andrew. "_Turn it around every day__. I can hear what you say. __Now I know why, know we can make it__... if you __tell me that you love me, yeah! And tell me that I take your breath away and maybe if you take one more..._"

Delilah jumped off the piano and walked down the stage once more as the song transposed into a higher note. She did another round of the tables before climbing back onto the piano from the empty space beside Andrew on the black bench.

"_There's nothing left to say!_" She leaned forward, smiling at Andrew as they finished the song together. "_But tell me that you love me anyway._"

The restaurant exploded with a round of applause, cheers coming from our table mostly as my sister walked to the front of the stage and, holding hands with Andrew, bowed to the audience.

"I did not know she could sing like that," I spoke, eyes widened with awe toward my sister.

Hermione smiled, applauding along with everybody else. "Neither did I," she said admittedly. "Neither did I."

**Back to Delilah's P.O.V.**

"Uncomfortable ride?" I asked with a chuckle upon seeing my best friends arrive at King's Cross.

The three of them were severely scratched, the boys looking more so irritated than Hermione.

"It's that bloody cat!" Ron complained. "I swear, if I get scratched one more time by that bloody demon, I will skin it alive and make a fluffy hat out of its fur."

Hermione, startled by his words, hugged the fidgeting cat closer to her chest, while Harry laughed, seemingly in spite of himself.

"And I'm guessing the pouring rain doesn't really help your boat of irritation to float," I retorted sarcastically as my brother and Will joined us.

"Gee," my brother snorted. "You guys look more like a drowning cat than Crookshanks."

"Little Dawn will be the head I'll use to model that orange fluffy hat," Ron grumbled, earning another chuckle from me.

By now, I was very well used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention.

We did it in groups of two today; Harry and Ron went first, followed by Seth and Will, then Hermione and I; we leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it, and as we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of us.

The Hogwarts Express, much like Hogwarts itself, was a sight I could never grow tired of. The gleaming scarlet steam engine, was, as every first day of September, already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts.

While Seth and Will set off another way to find their friends from their year, my friends and I set off to find seats, and were soon stowing our luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform to say goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny goodbye.

"Why?" I asked keenly.

"You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it... it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

"Why?" Fred and George echoed my earlier question, impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it."

"A bit of what?" said Ron.

But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied us toward the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," I said as we climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, Hermione nodding and smiling fondly at the woman from where she stood beside me.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but... well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with... one thing and another."

"Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

As curious as I was, I found the jumping subject quite amusing.

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting— mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules—"

"What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you... now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?"

The pistons hissed loudly, and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I went back to our compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what—"

"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours.

I rolled my eyes upon hearing the familiar drawling voice of my Slytherin friend drifting in through the open door.

"... Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore— the man's such a Mudblood-lover—"

My jaw clenched upon hearing this, and I tried to tune his voice out, grabbing my big family book out of my dear shoulder bag and gently settling on my lap. I ran my fingers of the edges of the visibly old hardcover as I mumbled the commanding spell under my breath.

"_Patentibus_."

The familiar mechanical-looking lock appeared on the bronze colored hardcover, and I watched, still fascinated, as the gears turned one over the other before that little 'click'ing sound reached my ears, indicating the book was open and ready to be read.

I smiled as I muttered another, longer, spell under my breath. "_Ostende mihi signa, ostende mihi significant_," **(Show me the signs, show me the meanings.)**

What I love about this book is that it doesn't just show me the history of my family all the way to the life of my ancestors from far before the name Dawn was even chosen to be our family name. It also shows me information on Wiccans and all sorts of different magic. It shows me all I can learn about not only magic but also the different magical creatures in existence, most dating back to the time Wiccan magic first came to light.

"— and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do..."

I groaned; how did I ever become friends with that guy? "'Mione, can you shut the door? His voice... or rather mere presence is getting in my nerves."

"How did you ever even become friends with that pompous git?" Ron asked.

Harry snorted. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

I chuckled halfheartedly. "Funny enough, I was wondering the exact same thing," I said admittedly as Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Draco's voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" Hermione said angrily. "I wish he had gone; then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," said Ron vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows, do they?" said Hermione.

"Er— why not?" said Harry.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Come off it," said Ron, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts— how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts is hidden," I chimed in, distractedly. "Everyone knows that..."

"Well, everyone who's read _Hogwarts, A History_, anyway," Hermione reminded me.

"Just you two, then," said Ron. "So go on— how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ronald, maybe it's bewitched!" I stated sarcastically, looking up from my book. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying _DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE_."

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"

"Maybe," I said, shrugging.

"Or," Hermione continued, "it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable—"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building, so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er... if you say so," said Harry.

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"It's in Bulgaria, actually," I stated, returning my attention back to my book.

"How do you know?" Harry asked me.

I felt my cheeks burn as they had done a lot lately and bit my lower lip. "... 's a long story, I'll tell you about it someday." More like never.

"Ah, think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident... Shame his mother likes him..."

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share.

Several of our friends looked in on us as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus, Dean, and Neville, a round-faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable witch of a grandmother. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette.

After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_.

"Gran didn't want to go," Neville he said miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," said Ron. "Look at this, Neville..." From the corner of my eye, I caught him rummaging in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out something small.

I grumbled under my breath, shaking my head to myself as I tried to tune out their voices, with much difficulty. I carefully flipped through the pages of my book and felt my brows furrow as the subtitle on this page caught my eye.

_Pars Venator_

There's no literal translation for those words, so I could not tell right on the spot what it meant. The whole scripting beneath was, for some reason, also written in Latin, some words being so old I could not fully translate it.

I realize I had mainly just been flipping through the pages, so I was not sure what lead up to this.

"Oh wow," said Neville enviously.

"We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box—"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

I groaned in exasperation, tearing my eyes from the page before me and hitting my head a couple of times against the cushioned headboard behind me, internally wishing it were just metal or stone so the hit would knock me unconscious and I wouldn't have to endure these ridiculous confrontations.

Draco appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently, they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," said Harry coolly.

"Weasley... what is that?" said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean— they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" said Ron, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So... going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know... you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won..."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

My head snapped up, eyes narrowing into a very irritated glare. "Either explain what you're on about or go away, you stupid snake," I said testily, my hands tightening on the corners of my book.

A gleeful smile spread across his pale face. "Don't tell me you don't know?" he said delightedly. He looked at Ron and sneered. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago... heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry... Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley—"

"I will snap your neck if you don't leave this instant, Draco," I told the boy, glaring ferociously at him.

At this, he quickly beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well... making it look like he knows everything and we don't..." Ron snarled. "'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry.'" He scoffed. "Dad could've got a promotion any time... he just likes it where he is..."

"Of course he does," said Hermione quietly.

I sighed, looking at my redheaded friend. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron—"

"Him! Get to me!? As if!" said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

I smiled, in spite of myself, and chuckled. "Alright, tough guy."

He rolled his eyes at me. "What are you reading anyway? That doesn't look like one of our school books."

"That's because it's not." I closed the book and glanced down at the hardcover, tracing my fingers against the gears that would roll when the locket either opened or close. "This book... this book contains the history of my family dating back to first Wiccans that ever existed. It shows me what I ask it— all sorts of different Wiccan magic that ever existed, all magical creatures you wouldn't find in the Monster Book of Monsters. It spells every little as it happens, from the history of magic to the history of each and everyone one of my ancestors."

"No way!" Hermione breathed out in awe. She put her _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ down and reached toward mine. "May I?"

I knew exactly what she wanted to see, so I close the book and quickly mumbled a spell to revert the book to its usual content before handing it to Hermione. I watched as Harry and Ron huddled forward, reading over Hermione's shoulder as she flipped through the pages.

"The page with your name," Harry suddenly said as the three of them stared at the book with furrowed brows. "It's empty."

"How is that?" Ron asked. "I mean, even Seth's slot is quite filled up."

I bit my lip as I leaned back against my seat, wrapping my arms around myself. "I don't know," I said admittedly. "Seth told me that it was because I was in denial."

That seemed to confuse them. "What?"

My brows furrowed as I shifted my eyes to the ground. "This book has a chapter for each family member of the Dawn family, all the way to before our family name even was Dawn. We can read the story of most of our ancestors, but that's only because they've given their consent."

"... their consent?"

I sighed. "This book is like an entity of its own. It's alive, bewitched— call it what you will. But, basically, most of my family that has died and found peace with themselves don't mind, anymore, people reading about their life because they have accepted what has happened to them, whether it was good or bad. Anyone can see Seth's because he doesn't mind it. Mine doesn't show up, not even to me, because apparently I still haven't exactly come to terms with it. Until I do, no one— not even myself will be able to see it. As for anyone else reading any of it, no one can unless a Dawn magically gives their consent, letting the book know that we let certain people read it."

A look was shared between my friends, and I furrowed my brows, for the first time, trying to decipher it.

Ron then walked over to my left side and nudged his shoulder against mine. "You're one of a kind, you know that, Deli," he said softly.

"I know that," I deadpanned. "You don't need to rub it in my face."

The redhead laughed, along with Harry and Hermione. "That's not what he meant, Lilly," said Harry. "You're unique, and that's a good thing."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "If everyone was the same, this would be a ridiculously boring world."

I glanced down at my lap and grumbled. "You ass-kissers," I muttered, earning a chuckle from my friends, and I could not help the halfhearted smile that curled onto my lips. "Being different isn't always all that great though, especially when you're people like me. Or anyone in my family..."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

I bit my lip and frowned slightly as I grabbed the large book from her hands and closed it, mumbling the first spell I had cast earlier when I had first opened my book today.

I flipped through the pages until I came upon the chapter where each and every prophecy in my family was displayed. "_Latin class was too boring to attend, how about an English decryption instead?_" I muttered.

A golden light covered the pages in front of me before revealing a translated text of the Latin encryptions.

"You just made that spell up!" Ron exclaimed himself, surprised.

"Yeah, I don't know why I didn't think about that earlier," I muttered as I thought back to the earlier chapter I could not translate very well.

I showed my friends the prophecies that worried me the most.

"These are the last two prophecies in my line, and they both revolve around me," I told them.

"I'm sure that's not true," said Ron, grabbing the book from my hands. "_'Two halves meet light on the eleventh full moon'_— see, already there it talks about two people, not you."

"_'Two halves'_— that would be my mother and her twin sister."

"I'm sure it's not," said Harry, placing a comforting hand on my knee. "Go on, Ron."

"_'To vow separately the night thou reach their womanhood. Both heads, none tails, as is in their hybrid blood'_—"

"Mom and her twinnie," I insisted.

"_'One will reach their hopes, while the other reaches their loss,'_" Ron continued, completely ignoring my interruption. "Bloody hell, this is depressing."

"That's why it's definitely them," I deadpanned.

"_'The loss will find light within two different pieces... and create a new light for many others in need of it...'_"

"It's not like I'm an angel or anything, but that's totally me."

"_'Though one will be cursed, and forever doomed...'_" I waited patiently, watching Ron mirror my earlier frown. "_'That is, unless thou reaches their final phase on their final full moon'_... it says thou, not she— it's not you!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but lying to my face about something I already know is not really helping."

"Well, how 'bout the other one," said Hermione, reaching across me to grab the book from Ron's hands. I watched as her brows shot upward and her eyes widened, before she looked at us and held the book to her chest, hiding the content in it. "... it's not about you."

This time, Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, let me see that," he said, snatching the book from Hermione's hands. He read through it, then a look similar to Hermione's crossed his eyes. He looked up and locked gazes with both Ron and Hermione before finally looking at me.

"Well?" I said impatiently.

Harry sighed, then began to recite the second prophecy aloud. "_'Child of three, darkness and light... trapped as a beast of day and night,'_" he slowly began, and I noticed his tone was slightly shaky. "_'A choice and a phase must be made before eighteen... as a half-blood reaches thou's seventeen. The hybrid shall be the one to hold the key to help the half-blood and thou self fail or succeed. That single choice, that single phase shall begin or end the heir's days..._  
_the homes of all living to preserve or raze.'_"

For a moment, none of us spoke, the four of us simply staring at the book. Suddenly, the pages glowed a bright golden colored light, and Ron, Hermione and I jumped back startled when Harry suddenly yelped in pain, dropping the book. I quickly reached forward and caught the book, my eyes widening in surprise upon feeling how hot it had somehow gotten. I flopped the open book onto my lap and frowned as I watched it revert back to Latin, a new encryption gradually appearing underneath the one Harry had read.

"This is new," I commented, my brows furrowed under the feeling of perplexity.

"What does it say?" Ron whispered, glancing over my shoulder at the page displayed before me, Harry and Hermione huddling closer as well to have a better look.

My eyes squinted slightly as I narrowed my gaze on the little paragraph.

"_'You shall delve in the darkness of an endless maze,'_" I started translating. "_'The dead, the traitor, and the forgotten ones raise. You shall rise or fall by your mirror image's hand...'_" What the hell is this? "_'The Child of the Moon's final stand. Destroy with a hero's final breath... and lose a love to worse than death.'_"

I blinked, staring blankly at the neat cursive writing on the yellowed page.

"Well that's a blunt emphasis to my point," I stated, my sour mood not getting any closer to fading. Sarcastically, I added in a mutter, "Cheers to strange discoveries and even stranger prophecies."

My bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. I didn't talk much as we changed into our school robes and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak, and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather," said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd.

A bunch of carriages stood waiting for us outside the station, the reins that would be pulling them attached to skeletal horses. Like, literally, there were dead horses standing there, nothing but bones, waiting for us to climb in so they could take us to Hogwarts.

I grimaced. Ugh, magic is just plain weird sometimes.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and l climbed gratefully into one of the carriages, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.


	9. NeoWi— wait, what's a date?

**NeoWi— wait, what's a date?**

_Pressor..._

Pressor, pressor, pressor... the literal translation for that word is 'hunter.' But why would this be part of the supernatural creatures in my family book?

"_Pressor sunt in prima mutari Sola Stella Covina dicitur quod prima pars primo Wiccan familia primus in lucem..._" I read in a mumble, easily ignoring the rocking of the carriage and the rain pouring right outside.

"What are you reading now?" Hermione asked curiously from where she sat in front of me.

Ron sat beside her, visibly utterly bored, and Harry was just as, sitting beside me with his head resting on my shoulder.

"I came across this earlier on the train. For some reason, my magic won't work on it to translate it. But... I don't know, it's just really been bugging me a lot," I spoke sincerely, rubbing a peculiar itch crawling up my right arm.

"What does this word mean," Harry asked, pointing at the page. "... _pressor_?"

"Well, loosely translated, _pressor_ means hunter."

"... aren't you looking at magical creatures, though?" Harry said, shifting his head so his chin rested on my shoulder instead. I nodded. "Why would a hunter be in there?"

That's what I'd like to know...

"Maybe it's a supernatural hunter," Hermione suggested.

"Supernatural?" Ron repeated, perplexed.

Hermione nodded. "All things magical and out of the ordinary are considered to be supernatural to Muggles," she explained. "Because it's out of their every day ordinary."

"But that would suggest a Muggle would be one of those Hunters, wouldn't it?" said Ron.

"Perhaps more a Muggleborn, then," said Harry. "The Hunter has to have magical properties to be put in this list of magical creatures, I reckon."

"Or," I chimed in. "It could be someone who used to be Wiccan but was forced into a ritual to have their powers removed. Their powers never really faded, and so this no-longer-Wiccan-person used the remnants of their magic and put it upon themselves to hunt down those who cast them aside."

"I thought you didn't know the answer to that," Ron said accusingly.

"Oh, I didn't," I said. "But Ronald, there's a thing called reading."

Harry and Hermione chuckled before I was asked what it said.

"Okay, so... _Pressor sunt in prima mutari Sola Stella Covina dicitur quod prima pars primo Wiccan familia primus in lucem_..." I began, tracing my finger along each word I read. "A loose translation to this part would be... er... right— the first group to be transformed into Hunters are known as... the Lone Star Coven, which was part of the first Wiccan family that came to light in the very first century."

"Right, go on."

I bit my lip, my eyes squinting at the letters. "Erm... they were Wiccan wielders who had their powers taken away for using their magic for the wrong causes. The spell cast on them, however, had a side-effect that ended up giving them abilities of their own, which they used to hunt down the Wiccan practitioners."

My eyes scanned further down the page, my fingers following each word I read.

"Goddess of the moon..." I whispered, fascinated by this new discovery.

"What?" Harry asked, shifting around so he sat closer to me, looking cluelessly down at the book in my laps.

"These Hunters... despite having no magic, they have a lot of similarities to other magical creatures..."

Ron leaned forward. "Kind of like...?"

"Me," I replied, looking up at my friends. "I mean... listen to this! They have a regenerative healing factor."

"What's so glorious about a regenerative healing factor?" Ron asked me with a slight scoff.

"This healing factor that most supernaturals, like werewolves, shifters and vampires possess, allows us to heal at an abnormal rate, faster than any human being can; the extent of this regeneration is very powerful. Small cuts and minor injuries heal within seconds while larger, more damaging injuries, such as broken bones, blood loss, and vampire venom infection heal within minutes. Of course, the time always depends on how severe these injuries are— sometimes the healing can take up to hours, or even a couple of days."

"Vampire venom infection?" Hermione asked, puzzled by this particular revelation.

I nodded. "Well, you see how there're different types of shapeshifters?" My friends nodded, all three attentively absorbing the information I was giving them. "Well, there are also several types of vampires. Let's see..."

I quickly flipped through the pages, my finger tapping on the aged sheet upon finding the page I was looking for.

"We have the traditional... _Original_ vampire. The Nosferatu; these were the first ever to exist, having been created through a magic spell by a witch who was trying to give more powers to a Hunter, so he would be able to take down the Wiccan coven that created them. She was thirsty for vengeance, angry that they had not accepted her into their coven. Her spell, unfortunately, took away all traces of humanity this Hunter had, turning him into a blood-thirsty killer."

"Well, how did they manage to..." Ron grimaced. "... procreate his species to this day?"

Hermione's eyes sparkled with thirst for this knowledge and discoveries. "Oh, I know this one," she said excitedly. "The witch tried to redeem herself and tried to find a way to reverse the spell she had cast on him, but since she couldn't find anything, instead, she found a ritual that would permit him to procreate and interact as mortals do." I smiled slightly, nodding in confirmation. "In the end, that didn't go in her favor either as he ended up using her in her own ritual, thus the first family of original vampires was created."

"By traditional... you mean like those that can really just walk in the night?" Harry asked. "Like Dracula?"

"Exactly."

"So... they have no shadow or reflection and burn in the sun."

"Well, yes. But that's a trait they share with another type of vampires. The Daeva. These, however, always had a kinder alliance with witches as the Original Daeva family actually had a witch amongst them before her children were turned into slaves to the Sun God. From then on, this race, having much more humanity than the Original vampire would act more cleverly and create alliances with the magic folk. They would always form deals amongst them, exchanging protection of their family line for enchanted jewels that would permit them to walk in the sun."

"Another difference is that these vampires can't procreate," my bushy-haired friend said.

"They're also much tamer," I added. "And they can mingle much more easily amongst the Muggle community. You wouldn't be able to tell them apart unless you had a gift or a spell that would permit you to detect them upon sight."

"Those sort of detection charms are quite hard to master, though," Hermione commented.

"But they're effectively strong," I said. "A powerful witch or wizard would be able to sense these creatures from miles away."

"Are there any more types of vampires?" Ron asked curiously.

"Oh, there are plenty. Some of them develop within mortals from a simple thirst for blood. But the most commonly known are the Nosferatu— which, as I mentioned before, are our traditional original ones— the Daeva, the Old Ones— which are actually the first Daeva vampires in existence— and the Cold Ones."

"The Cold Ones?"

I nodded, then let out a snort. "They sparkle."

"What?!"

I chuckled and shook my head, closing my book and shoving it into my bag. "I'll tell you about it later," I told them when I noticed we were nearing the gates of Hogwarts.

I barely paid mind to my friends' chatter as they rambled on about what it was that people were avoiding talking about all day. I couldn't help but wonder as well; what was going to happen differently at Hogwarts this year?

I glanced out the window of the carriage and smiled slightly upon seeing the sight we were approaching. Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, I leaned further against the window, seeing Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain.

Lightning flashed across the sky as our carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I jumped down from our carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when we were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

_Now, this is home._

"Blimey," said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, "if that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak— ARRGH!"

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into me, just as a second water bomb dropped— narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet.

People all around us shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. I looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above us, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

"Peeves!" I complained.

The poltergeist merely grinned that mischievous grin of his and shrugged at me, before refocusing on his aim, shamelessly cackling under his breath.

"PEEVES!" an angry voice suddenly yelled. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall; my eyes widened as I watched her skid on the wet floor and grab Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch— sorry, Miss Granger—"

I quickly pulled Hermione back, out of further harm's way. "That's all right, Professor!" my friend gasped, massaging her throat.

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!" And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall call the headmaster!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I'm warning you, Peeves—"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

My friends and I slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing us. It was much warmer in here.

We walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

"Hello, Nick," I greeted the ghost pleasantly, smiling politely at him.

"Good evening," he said, beaming at us.

"Says who?" said Harry, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

"Harry! Delilah!"

"Oh, dear God," Harry grumbled, dropping his head onto the table.

His feelings were greatly mirrored within me, though I managed to hide my mild irritation behind a smile. From the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, I could tell, though, that I wasn't doing as good a job as I thought I was. I could feel it too, though; the twitch in the corner of my mouth had lifted my lips a slight bit in a look that was something between a smile and a grimace.

Colin Creevey was there, a third year to whom Harry and I were apparently something alike heroes.

"Hi, Colin," said Harry warily.

"Harry, Deli! Guess what? Guess what?! My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!"

I could feel a complaining explanation about to burst from Harry's lips, so I quickly covered his mouth with my hand and gave the younger boy a forced smile.

"That's great, Colin," I told the boy lightly.

"He's really excited!" said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh?"

I removed my hand from Harry's mouth and gave him a warning look. "Er— yeah, all right," Harry ended up saying rather awkwardly.

He turned back to Hermione, Ron, Nearly Headless Nick, and I. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he said.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," I told him. "Parvati Patil's twin is in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

I then looked up at the staff table and felt my brows raise slightly in surprise. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and I couldn't think who else was missing.

Then, it occurred to me. "Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

We had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. My favorite by far had been Remus.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious.

I scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, who was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side sat Severus, Hogwarts' Potions master.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which I knew was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore with that sweeping silver hair and beard of his shining in the candlelight. The tips of his long, thin fingers were together, and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. I glanced up at the ceiling too and smiled slightly, but it quickly went away as I came to realize something; it was enchanted to look like the sky outside, but never had I ever seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned from where he sat beside Harry, across from Hermione and I, "I could eat a hippogriff."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If my friends and I were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school— all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what I could recognize as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat.

When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, I caught him looking at his brother and giving him a double thumbs-up, mouthing, "I fell in the lake!" He looked positively delighted about it.

Before the ceremony could begin, I whisked out my wand and slightly flicked it about, mumbling, "_Calefieri_," under my breath.

For a minute or so, the room seemed to fill itself with steam. Moments later, the frigid air suddenly became warmer, and everyone was visibly dry now and much more comfortable, sighing and mumbling amongst each other, content with the comforting shift.

Professor McGonagall then placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, the extremely old, familiar dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then, a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into a quite peculiar song that was unlike the one he had hung last year. Then again, he always sings something different, so perhaps this year he simply had a weirder taste. When the Sorting Hat finished his song, the Great Hall rang with applause.

"That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us," said Harry, as we clapped along with everyone else.

"Sings a different one every year," said Hermione.

"It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it," Ron said suddenly, "being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one."

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. Ackerley, Stewart!"

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. I caught a glimpse of Cho cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down and smiled slightly at the sight of the delighted boy.

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; I could see Draco clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. I rolled my eyes as Fred and George hissed at the boy as he sat down.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers' table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming— a misleading impression, for I knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at my friends and me as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide-

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless Nick.

"'Course it is... if you're dead," snapped Ron.

"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors is up to scratch," said Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?"

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

"Pritchard, Graham!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Quirke, Orla!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" who was placed in Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall then picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before our eyes.

As dinner appeared all along the tables, and everyone started to eat, Nearly Headless Nick came to mention that Peeves had caused problems with the house-elves in the kitchen.

"There are house-elves here?" Hermione said, staring, horror-struck, at Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"

"Certainly," said Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" he replied. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... see to the fires and so on... I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And— and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?"

Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped, and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

I gagged, turning away while spitting out what food I had in my mouth in a napkin. "Oh, I've just lost my appetite..." I croaked, drinking as much water from my goblet as I could.

"Sick leave and pensions?" Nick said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!"

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops— sorry, 'Arry—" He swallowed. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner. Slave labor."

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. "Chocolate gateau!"

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

Everyone in the hall turned to look at him.

"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has, this year, been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

He continued, "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students." His gaze fell on my friends and me, earning sheepish looks from the four of us. "As is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year."

Shifting his gaze around the Hall, he then added, much to our great surprise, as well as dismay, "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?" Harry gasped.

I looked around at Fred and George, my fellow teammates of the Quidditch team from when I had been in the team two years ago. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore went on, "This is due to some events that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy— but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers' table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any I had ever seen. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred, worse than my own even. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening; one of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye— and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all we could see was whiteness.

"Oh, I've just lost my appetite..." Ron suddenly croaked, echoing what I had said earlier.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering inquiring words of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

"Moody?" Harry muttered. "Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?"

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice, his earlier disgust seemingly completely gone.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and I saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting some very exciting events over the coming months, events that have not been held for a long time. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard and the NeoWigan Tournaments will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er— but maybe this is not the time... no..." said Dumbledore, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard and the NeoWigan Tournament... well, some of you will not know what these tournaments involve, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a brief explanation and allow their attention to wander freely."

Dumbledore then went on to explain that the Triwizard Tournament was a competition established centuries ago between representatives from each of the five largest schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, WizTech Academy, Beauxbatons, Salem Witches Institute, and Durmstrang. A total of three champions would be selected, each representing their own school, and the champions would compete in three magical tasks. The schools would take it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and though it had been discontinued hundreds of years ago because of high death tolls, the British and American Ministries of Magic had now taken enough precautions for it to continue.

This year's Triwizard Tournament would be held right here in Hogwarts, along with the NeoWigan Tournament, which was very much older than the former, dating all the way back to the very first registered Wiccan wielders.

The NeoWigan Tournament followed the same concept of the Triwizard Tournament, only this one being held whenever the enchanted goblet, which was created to select its champions who happened to all be Wiccan wielders, would fire up. For the longest time, as Wiccan magic had all but faded from existence, only a few families still practicing that sort of magic, for it still prominently ran through their veins; the Goblet had not fired up once. When the never extinguishing flame in the Wiccan Goblet would flame up, it would be its warning to its seers that it's going to select its champions soon. Unlike the Goblet of Fire from the Triwizard Tournament, the Wiccan Goblet would not select three champions; its number would always change.

Once the champions were selected, the goblet would then proceed to select the number of tasks as well as the tasks themselves that the champions would have to participate in, all refusal objected; once you were chosen, you could not say no.

Dumbledore then added that the winning champion of the NeoWigan Tournament would then be delved into the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, and the final winner would then go on to receive a thousand galleons. Also, he made sure to mention that nobody younger than seventeen years old can enter the Triwizard Tournament.

A young Ravenclaw student then proceeded to ask if the same was for the NeoWigan Tournament. Luna, I briefly recalled her name to be; Seth had mentioned her a couple times, and Ginny had too.

With that usual gleam in his eyes, Dumbledore smiled at the girl and replied the Wiccan tournament was different on that account as well, for it selected people of all ages, has yet to select anyone younger than fourteen. I huffed; of course, it wouldn't be younger than fourteen. With my luck, though, I would've probably been picked either way, regardless of what age I am.

I sighed, dropping my head onto the table, vaguely aware when Hermione moved my plate out of the way as I did so. I could only hope that I would not be chosen for this crap.

"Death toll?" Hermione whispered, clearly still alarmed at this, as she shakily held the plate of apple pie I had made for her, since she wouldn't eat the food the elves made.

She, Ginny and I sat in a circle in my room, having decided to do a little sleepover.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about the NeoWigan Tournament," I said, taking a bite out of my twelfth chocolate covered strawberry; I loved chocolate, and I loved strawberries.

Ginny nodded as she dipped a finger in the chocolate dipping sauce. "I agree. Professor Dumbledore specified that the Wiccan Goblet hasn't selected anyone younger than fourteen yet, but he implied how unpredictable it is. What if it does select someone younger?"

"And he said once you're selected, you can't really say no," I added with a slight shudder.

"What would you do if you were chosen?" Ginny asked me.

I shrugged, bringing my knees to my chest. "I haven't really given it much thought," I said admittedly. "I've been hoping more that I wouldn't be chosen; I've been trying so hard to hide the fact that I'm a Wiccan wielder for so long…" I sighed. "Had I known there were others still out there…"

I didn't really know where I was going with this. Very much like my family, I didn't really stop to think if there were still more out there. I guess I had gotten so used to the fact that I was alone, that the idea that there actually be others like me still out there frightened me. I don't know why, though, it shouldn't.

"I feel like Fred and George are going to do something rash," Ginny suddenly said.

Hermione chuckled lightly, shaking her head at our younger friend. "They always do rash things, Ginny, it's who they are. You should know that by now, you know, being their sister."

Ginny rolled her eyes, flopping down on my bed. "I know that, but I'm just scared, I guess. What if they _really_ get into trouble this time?"

I laughed softly. "Somehow, I doubt that."

The little redhead smiled at this, giggling. "You're right."

"They always find some way to get themselves out of trouble," Hermione added, agreeing as well.

Still chuckling to myself, I shook my head again before flicked my wrist, making our dishes disappear. "Alright, sweet gals, I think it's time we hit the sack."

Hermione snorted. "'Hit the sack'?"

I shrugged as the three of us slid under my covers. "I don't know; I heard some guy say it once, back in the States."

Ginny giggled under her breath. "Goodnight, Herme; night, Dels."

Hermione and I replied in unison before the three of us settled for the night, and for the first time in a long while, despite my day-long restlessness, I felt myself fall into a dreamless slumber, my body and mind simultaneously relaxing, for I hadn't had this in a long time.

—🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟 —🌟

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as my friends, and I examined our new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad... outside all morning," said Ron, who was running his finger down his schedule. "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"You honestly thought we would someday magically have no more classes with the Slytherins?" I asked, brow raised as I took a sip of my pumpkin juice.

"Well, this is a school of magic…" Ron pointed out, only earning himself a hit upside the head from Hermione, causing me to chuckle.

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down. I was surprised Harry disliked Divination so much, though, then again, not too surprised; Professor Trelawney kept predicting his death, which, I had to agree, was extremely annoying.

"You should have given it up like Deli and I, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

"I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights," said Hermione haughtily.

I rolled my eyes at the bushy-haired girl. "She was hungry," I admitted on her part, emitting a grin out of Ron.

There was a sudden rustling noise above us, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, I looked up at the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville and deposited a parcel into his. On the other side of the Hall Draco's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. From the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw Harry's attention returning to his porridge, a clear look of disappointment etched across his face.

I nudged him on the side, before sliding a finger underneath his chin, playfully bumping it upward. "Chin up, buttercup," I said cheerfully, smiling at him, earning myself a smile in return from my best friend.

Before long, we were passing across a sodden vegetable patch until we arrived in greenhouse three, where I grew distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest, yet most intriguing plants I had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Dear God, that is disgusting," Hermione muttered, pressing her face against my shoulder to keep herself from looking. Hermione loved learning, but even she had her limits when confronted by rather disturbing things.

I reassuringly patted her on the head. "Don't worry; I'll lend you my notes."

"Thanks," she mumbled. "Just don't draw anything."

I snorted. I was no Da Vinci, but my drawings were pretty good; if anything, you'd think they were motionless black and white photographs rather than actual drawings.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus—"

"The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout, "and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. We caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. "An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and us Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar. As we drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached my ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid said, grinning at us. "Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this— Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates.

"Eurgh!" squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward.

"Eurgh" was just about right when it came to these Blast-Ended Skrewts. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches.

"On'y jus' hatched," said Hagrid proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

"And why would we want to raise them?" said a cold voice.

Of course. Who else would it be? None other than stupid Pale-Face. Crap and Boiling Water were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

"I mean, what do they do?" asked bleach-blondie. "What is the point of them?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds' pause, then he said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things— I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer— I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake— just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," muttered Seamus.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made my friends, and I pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" yelled Dean after about ten minutes. "It got me." Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. "Its end exploded!" said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," said Hagrid, nodding.

"Eurgh!" Lavender squealed again. "Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," said Hagrid enthusiastically. "I reckon they're the males… The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies... I think they might be ter suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Draco sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

"Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione snapped. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

I chuckled and shook my head at my friend's sass, while Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as my friends and I knew only too well— he had owned one for a brief period during our first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.

"Well, at least the skrewts are small," said Ron as we made our way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

"They are now," said Hermione in an exasperated voice, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?" said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," said Hermione. "As a matter of fact, I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that the rest of us could only stare at her.

"Er— is this the new stand on elf rights?" said Ron. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" said Ron in disbelief. "Hermione— it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

"This is Hermione you're talking to, Ron," I deadpanned. "You, as well as I, know she's been anxious about this all summer— might as well've been a wolf in heat."

I noticed Hermione's face flush red upon hearing the last bit of the sentence I muttered, understanding _exactly_ what I meant.

She opened her mouth to say something but quickly shut it as her gaze trailed towards something behind me. That was when I suddenly widened my awareness of our surroundings and felt a presence behind me. It wasn't an irking presence, so I knew it wasn't Pale face.

I boredly glanced over my shoulder and felt myself smile slightly upon recognizing the person standing behind me. Derek was his name? No, wait— Edward. **(A.N. See what I did there? hehe)**

… so much for recognition.

"Delilah," he greeted me kindly, a faint patch of pink darkening his already rosy cheeks.

I stared at him, feeling my face heat up in slight embarrassment; this guy has been so kind to me ever since we've met— how could I have forgotten his name?!

"Cedric! What a surprise!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed herself, nearly startling me out of my seat, though I quickly collected myself, sighing softly in relief. Thanks, Herme; always knew I could count on you during my moments of stupidity.

Cedric directed his smile to my bushy-haired friend. "Hello, Hermione, I didn't mean to bother you guys, but I was wondering if I could steal Delilah from you for a moment."

**Harry's P.O.V.**

I watched as Delilah eyed the Hufflepuff with curious eyes, clenching my hands into fists underneath the table.

"Steal away," said Ron, mouth full of lamb chop. I seriously wanted to strangle him right now. "It's not like she's being of any use here."

I felt a leg shift underneath the table, and soon Ron cried out in pain as Delilah exclaimed herself, "Hey! I take offense to that!"

Cedric laughed softly before placing a hand on Delilah's shoulder. "Delilah?"

She turned and smiled back at him. "Sure, lead the way."

Delilah stood and went to climb over the bench to follow him, but stumbled and tripped, nearly falling to the ground. I reached forward and was just inches away from catching her when, suddenly, someone beat me to it.

Dammit, Cedric!

Cedric quickly helped her over the bench and kept a hold of her as to make sure she wouldn't fall over again.

She looked at him, a faint blush adorning her cheeks as she gave him a half-hearted smile. "Seems you're always picking me up," she said.

He chuckled softly, a faint blush coloring his own stupidly naturally rosy cheeks. "I guess so," he said softly. "Shall we?"

She nodded, seemingly ignoring the rest of us. "Sure." She then glanced our way— guess she wasn't ignoring us. "I'll be right back, guys."

"Take your time," Ron retorted, causing me to instantly turn and glare at him.

Dammit, Ron!

The moment Cedric and Delilah were gone, I kicked the idiot under the table right before Hermione hit him upside the head.

"Ow!" he complained. "Would you lot stop mistreating me?!"

"You are such an idiot, Ronald!" Hermione screeched.

"How am I an idiot?! The guy wanted to talk to her, so I let him! It's not like he _actually_ needed our permission, though; Delilah's her own person, she would decide for herself. But he was still cool enough to ask us 'cause he knows the four of us are best mates." Noticing our glares, he rolled his eyes at us and gave us a pointed look. "C'mon, you can't tell me you would've said 'no.' Delilah would've been mad if we'd made the decision for her. And you lot know I was just joking about the 'not being of any use' part, right?"

I was admittedly stunned by his reply, and Hermione was seemingly so too. Neither of us knowing what to say to this, we silently returned to our meals, and I tried hard to not think about how my best friend whom I was in love with was talking with an older boy who clearly had the hots for her like most other guys in this school. Hell, I think even Malfoy has the hots for her!

"What do you reckon he's talking to her for? I mean, it's not like they share any classes together," said Ron. "And we're not even the same year. As far as I know, they've only really spoken twice."

"That's right," Hermione said suddenly. "He was at that dueling club Lockhart had created. He'd made Cedric and Deli face each other off."

"And then the second time they spoke was right before the Cup," Ron added.

"Why's the horse with my sister?" I heard a familiar voice demanding.

I glanced to my right to find Seth occupying his sister's seat. God, it was eerie how much they looked alike. Sure, his eyes were a little more deep-set than hers were, and of course, he had short hair now and was quite a bit shorter than Delilah and even myself, but they still looked very much alike.

"We don't know," I told him plainly. "He stole her from us. No thanks to Ron…"

"Oi! I'm telling you— she would've gone either way!"

I looked back at Seth and noticed his face had suddenly paled, his eyes locked on the pair speaking by the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Seth? What's wrong? What is it—"

"Were you going to add 'boy' at the end of that sentence?" I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. "Honestly, Harry. I know I come from a family in which most people can transform into ginormous wolves, but I'm not a literal dog, you know."

I was about to apologize when I felt someone approaching us. I turned and saw Delilah slowly making her way back toward us, a thoughtful look on her face. I squinted my eyes slightly when I noticed something different about her, blinking owlishly afterward when I noticed a crown of Delilah's nestled neatly on Delilah's head.

"Why in Hades would you say 'yes' to that horse?" Seth demanded, jumping to his feet.

Delilah slowly brought her hand up and suddenly flicked him across the forehead. "Calm yourself."

The boy literally growled. "Delilah!"

She shrugged, sitting back down beside me, her back to the table. "He asked me something I found… intriguing, so I said 'yes.'"

Seth slapped a hand over his forehead, his body slouching in defeat. "Gods, you're hopeless," he cried out, sluggishly making his way back to his seat beside his friend William, a good few people away.

"So," said Ron. "What did the Hufflepuff want?"

Delilah waved him off, though I couldn't help but feel a tad bit suspicious. She reached over and grabbed a few baby carrots from my plate, and I watched like a creepy stalker as she happily munched on the orange vegetable.

"Nothing to worry about," she replied through a mouthful. Swallowing the food in her mouth, she reached over again and took a sip of my pumpkin juice as Ron and Hermione simultaneously took a sip of their own goblets.

"By the way," said Delilah as she gave me back my goblet. "What's a date?"

It was suddenly eerily silent in our part of the long table. Suddenly, Hermione all but leaped over the table, barely missing the food, landed in front of Delilah and pulled her toward the exit.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed himself while I quite literally fell off my seat in shock. Hermione merely departed at high speed, dragging a very puzzled Delilah behind her, stopping by the door to seemingly recruit Ginny as well.

"See you at dinner!"


	10. Silence and a Crackle of Lightning

**Silence and a Crackle of Lightning**

**Harry's P.O.V.**

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Ron and I set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling and the room where Professor Trelawney lived.

The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met my nostrils as we emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Ron and I walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room and sat down at the same small circular table.

"Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind me, making me jump. _Gods_, she was creepy.

The very thin, familiar woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at me with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw me. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she told me, mournfully. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas... most difficult... I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass... and perhaps sooner than you think..."

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at me, as I stonily looked back at him. Professor Trelawney swept past us and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she said. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle..."

But my thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made me feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never held me exactly spellbound— though I couldn't help thinking about what she had just said to me. _T__he thing you dread will indeed come to pass..._

But Hermione and Delilah were right; Professor Trelawney really was an old fraud. I wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all... well, unless my fears that Sirius had been caught counted… or the fact that that stupid Hufflepuff asked Delilah out and she unknowingly said yes... but what did Professor Trelawney know? I had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortune-telling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.

Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again... and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine when I had described it to him.

"Harry!" Ron muttered.

"What?"

I looked around; the whole class was staring at me. _Great_. I sat up straight; I had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and my thoughts.

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that I had obviously not been hanging on her words.

"Born under— what, sorry?" I mumbled, confused.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" said Professor Trelawney, sounding _definitely_ irritated. "I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth... Your dark hair... your mean stature... tragic losses so young in life... I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"

"No," I nearly snorted as I replied drily, "I was born in July."

Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.

Half an hour later, each of us had been given a complicated circular chart and were attempting to fill in the position of the planets at our moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.

"I've got two Neptunes here," I said after a while, frowning down at my piece of parchment, "that can't be right, can it?"

"Aaaaah," said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry..."

Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender— "Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet!"— What the hell is unaspected?— "Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"

"It is Uranus, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.

"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" said Ron.

Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give us all so much homework at the end of the class.

"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

"Miserable old bat," said Ron bitterly as we later joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will..."

"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, as she and Delilah caught up with us.

"Professor Vector didn't give us any at all," Delilah chimed in, contentedly.

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," said Ron moodily.

We reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. We had just joined the end of the line when a loud voice rang out behind us.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

The four of us turned to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

"What?" said Ron shortly.

"Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!" said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this!

_FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office._"

Malfoy looked up. "Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

_Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene. _

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house— if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," I said. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So, tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know your mother, Malfoy?" I said, momentarily glancing to the side upon noticing Delilah's hand snapping forward and effortlessly taking a hold of the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy; "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?"

Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your fat mouth shut, then," I snarled, turning away.

"Draco," I heard Delilah say suddenly, a warning seemingly darkening her tone. "Don't you even think about it."

Before I could turn back to see what she was going on about—

_BANG!_

Several people screamed as I felt something white-hot graze the side of my face, immediately reacting by plunging my hand into my robes for my wand, but before I'd even touched it, I heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

I spun around and blinked thrice, stunned at the sight unfolding before me; Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out, and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at me— at least, his normal eye was looking at me; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

"Did he get you?" Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

"No," I said quickly, fervently shaking my head, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave— what?" I croaked, bewildered.

"Not you— him!" Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.

"Oh, that is nasty," I heard Delilah grunt from where she stood behind Ron, still holding the back of his robes, though he had long stopped struggling against her grip.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again— it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent's backs are turned," growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..."

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. "Never— do— that— again—" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" said a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What— what are you doing?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air.

"Teaching," said Moody.

"Teach— Moody, is that a student?" shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," said Moody.

"No!" cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock—"

"We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh yeah?" said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son... you tell him that from me... Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," said Malfoy resentfully.

"Another old friend," growled Moody. "I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you..."

And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

"You lot should keep him on a tighter leash," Delilah said, catching Professor McGonagall's attention. The woman gave our friend a deadpanned look that mirrored Delilah's voice before marching away. As she did, Delilah then snorted as the four of us began to make our way down the Great Hall, trying to find a place to sit. "Ironic coming from me, ain't it?"

"Don't talk to me," Ron said quietly to us as we finally sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened, Hermione settling down beside him across from Delilah, who sat down beside me.

"Why not?" said Hermione in surprise.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret."

The lot of us laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates.

"He could have really hurt Malfoy, though," she said. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it—"

"Hermione!" said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"

Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" I said, watching her.

"Got to," said Hermione thickly. "Loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector—"

"It's not schoolwork," Delilah said, cutting me off.

Suddenly, my face was forcefully pulled to my right and I found myself staring into Delilah's violet orchidee, silver-specked eyes, feeling my breath getting caught up in my throat.

_Gods_, her eyes are so deep...

I stared at her, mouth agape probably making myself look like an idiot as she carefully tilted my head from side to side, looking to see if I was perhaps injured in any way. I suddenly heard a snort from across the table— undoubtedly Ron laughing at my stupor— snapping me out of my transfixed gaze.

_Gods_, I really got to get a hold of myself...

Gently taking a hold of her wrists, I stopped her thorough motions, giving her a small smile. "I'm fine, Dels."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her hands relaxed upon my jaw. "Are you sure?"

"I am certain," I reassured her, reluctantly pulling her hands from my face.

Lips pursed, she looked at me a moment longer, before letting go of my face. "Fine..."

It was momentarily quiet between the four of us as we ate, and I soon found myself mildly surprised when, within the next five minutes, Hermione had cleared her plate and dragged a whining Delilah away once again. No sooner had they gone than Hermione's seat was taken by Fred Weasley.

"Moody!" he said. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," said George, sitting down opposite Fred, to my right.

"Supercool," said the twins' best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. "We had him this afternoon," he told Ron and I.

"What was it like?" I asked eagerly.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. "Never had a lesson like it," said Fred.

"He knows, man," said Lee.

"Knows what?" said Ron, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there doing it," said George, clearly impressed.

"Doing what?" I asked.

"What do you think?" the twins and their best mate retorted in unison.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," Fred then said.

"He's seen it all," George followed right after.

"'mazing," Lee agreed.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. "We haven't got him till Thursday!" he said in a disappointed voice.

**Seth's P.O.V.**

"What's all the fuzz about?" I asked upon hearing Ron's disappointed voice as Will and I approached my sister's friends. With no hesitation, I took the empty seat on Harry's left, Will occupying my left.

"Ron's complaining about how we haven't got Moody till Thursday," Harry replied.

"Oh… that guy…" I muttered uneasily as I began to serve myself some food.

"I heard he's the best we've gotten at Hogwarts so far… well, other than Lupin," Will chimed in. "Seth doesn't really think so, though."

Ron scoffed. "And to think I only thought you looked like your sister. Now you seem _just_ like her."

I rolled my eyes at the redhead, as I munched on a spoonful of my Panzanella salad. "It's not as simple as you put it, Will. I don't hate the man, but… he just oozes this darkness that I'd never felt around him before."

"Wait, you've met 'im before?" Ron asked surprised.

I nodded, taking a sip of my drink before grimacing; who in the hell served me pumpkin juice?! I started coughing and stuffing my mouth with more salad to take the wretched taste off my tongue. How does Dels manage to drink this crap?

"… are you sick too?"

I froze upon hearing those words. What? I looked up and found both Ron and Harry staring oddly down at me. "What?" I voiced my confusion.

"Delilah's been coughing a whole lot and looking pretty off as of late," Ron elaborated.

"I noticed that too," Harry agreed. "But I was slightly afraid of asking her; you've seen how ticked off she'd get about the littlest things as of late."

"It's how she is," I was quick to defend my sister, my voice hard and stern. "She doesn't like it when people worry about her. I guess that's what happens when you're just used to people not giving a damn."

Seemingly noticing my sudden apprehensiveness towards my sister's best friends, Will quickly tugged on my robe. "C'mon, Seth, we should get going. You know how creepily _nice_ Professor Sprout gets when someone's late."

Professor Sprout was a special person. Then again, everyone here was so too, but she tended to get this overly creepy smile whenever she was clearly upset or even angry. That creepy smile tended to lead to either having detention with Snape, or detention in the Herbology Greenhouses, cleaning the crap out of them.

Frankly, I would rather have detention with Snape— the guy has it out for me, but because of who my sister is and, well, I guess, who she looks like…; he takes it a bit easier on me and my closest friends.

Leaving space for the next Gryffindors to eat, Will and I left the Great Hall in a haste, bodies tensed with anticipation; our class was usually during the morning, though we were told we'd be dealing with plants which's growth only follows a nightly procedure, so today's class was moved to be one hour long after dinner.

As we rushed down the halls, I realized I was somewhat hyperaware of the people walking around me. I felt a little dizzy, a feeling I'm not too unfamiliar with. I'd felt this way for a while now, but I'd been so hyped about having Deli over with us for the summer, that I had completely forgotten all about it and just numbed it out.

When we entered the assigned Greenhouse for today, I scrunched my nose instantly as an odd smell reached my nostrils.

"I never know what it's going to smell like in Greenhouse Three," I muttered, slightly uncomfortable from the rather foul stench that disturbed my strong sense of smell. _Stupid enhanced sense of smell!_

"Hey," a fellow Hufflepuff classmate greeted us with a smile. His name was Joseph too— Joseph Buer, but since everyone called me Seth, everyone called him Joe. "Don't forget your dragonhide gloves," he reminded us. "Heard the plants we're handling today have teeth!"

"Teeth?" Will wondered, eyes widening as he turned to me. "Do you think we'll be handling mandrakes again?"

I furrowed my brows and scrunched my nose again; it didn't smell like mandrakes in here, but one can never be too sure, especially with the teacher leading this class. "I don't think so, and by Gods, I hope not."

Will shrugged, nodding in agreement. "Thanks for the warning, Joe."

The boy smiled back at us. "No problem!" he replied before Will and I continued along the Greenhouse, seeking a spot for us to work together as per usual.

"Mister Dawn," Professor greeted me with a smile, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. "It's great to see you're finally on time. You as well, Mister Eberhardt."

Both of us smiled sheepishly at her. "Hello, Professor, how was your summer?" I tried, hoping she would start us off easy this year; we hadn't been so lucky last year.

She smiled kindly at me. "How thoughtful of you to ask! Your sister is always the same way," she said brightly. "My summer was splendid. I conducted several experiments on the composition of Dragon Dung Fertiliser."

I blinked. "Composition?" Will asked, voicing my very startled thought; this woman was startling.

"Yes! The quantity and quality of Dragon dung in the fertilizer has a tremendous impact on a plant's growth."

"How fascinating!" I scrunched my nose at Will's words; I hate when he's genuinely fascinated about considerably disgusting things. "I would love to examine the results of your test." _Oh, someone hang him now._

"Of course!" the woman exclaimed herself happily. "Students rarely show the proper enthusiasm for Dragon dung. Ten points to Gryffindor!"

I blinked, then nodded my head, content. _Okay, now we're talkin'._

She smiled again and motioned us toward the tables. "Find your place, now. It's time for today's lesson."

Pulling on his sleeve, I threw Professor Sprout one last smile before dragging Will to the tables. I instantly took notice of the closest empty space left for us beside a familiar, petite redhead and made my way over.

Before I could speak or rather blurt out the first word that would come to mind, I found myself staring into a pair of deep brown orbs I found oddly enthralling. They seemed like the darkest, yet warmest depths I'd ever stared into, and I swear upon my gods I all but felt numerous souls escaping my very being; I couldn't even bother to wonder how many soul animals I might get later on based on that particular feeling.

My heart was erratic, and my mind was fuzzy, and there was an odd, fluttering feeling in my stomach I'd never felt before as I felt a sudden warmth spreading within me.

"Seth!" I snapped out of my daze upon hearing Will call out my name and found that the twin ponds of hot chocolate belonged to the very petite redhead I'd been making my way toward.

What had just happened?

It took me a moment longer to realize I was still staring at her; her face had become flushed to her roots, her pale skin nearly as red as her hair!

"I… I…" What in Tartarus? Why can't I talk? "S-sorry!"

She almost looked like a startled deer caught in headlights at the mere sound of my voice, instantly making me feel bad.

"Do you mind if we use this space beside you, Ginny?" Will asked.

"What he said!" I uttered, unable to take my eyes away from the petite redhead.

"Sure!" she squeaked, moving a tad bit aside to leave us more space to work on.

Forcefully tearing my gaze away, I tried my hardest to focus on Professor Sprout's instructions, but repeatedly found my gaze falling back to the redhead standing beside me; I could practically feel her trembling, though I could not say why as I myself was still lost in a bit of a haze.

"… grow Valerian Sprigs. The roots of this magical plant can be used in many potions…"

Glancing to my left once again, I could not help but think back at how deep her dark eyes were. Made me think of chocolate… I really just… don't you just love chocolate? Who doesn't? It's just so—

"Seth!" I jumped, startled upon hearing Will hiss my name.

"Whazzup?" was my instinctive, slightly incoherent response, which was merely rewarded by an eyeroll from my best friend.

"Have you all been listening?" Professor Sprout asked the class after a while. "Let's see if you know the answer to the following question; which of the following potions does not contain Valerian Sprigs? Polyjuice Potion, Forgetfulness Potion, or Sleeping Draught?"

I'm ashamed to reveal I was completely ignoring the whole class; had it not been for Delilah all but forcing Will and I to study during our free time this summer, I probably wouldn't have known the answer to that, or any question for that matter, from how _clearly_ distracted I was.

"Polyjuice Potion," I uttered.

"That is precisely correct, Mister Dawn; ten points to Gryffindor." Professor Sprout giggled; it was an eerily strange sound coming from her. "At least someone was listening."

I really wasn't.

Before long, she demonstrated how to grow the plant and had us all do it; frankly, had I not learned this in advance, I would've failed this in-class assignment from _how distracted I was_. I was surprised when the class was suddenly, finally over, though I felt a tad bit upset for some reason when I attempted to speak to the little redheaded Weasley, but found her already gone, all but running out of the Greenhouse. Ouch_._

After our class, Will and I were meant to hang out with some of our friends from Ravenclaw, but I decided to skip out on our meet-up as I couldn't wait any longer; whatever I'd felt back at the Greenhouse… I need to know what in Tartarus that was. Skipping out our planned gathering upon feeling odd— deprived and utterly empty all of a sudden— I made my way back toward the Gryffindor Tower. On my way, I'd bumped into Professor Burbage from my Muggle Studies Class; thankfully, she didn't stall me much and sent me on my way upon thinking I had a really bad fever.

Thank the gods for my enhanced body temperature.

After crawling my way through the crawl-space behind the Fat Lady's portrait, I found my sister sitting by the fireplace in the Common Room. Now, I admit I started to selfishly ramble on to her, unable to keep this confusion within me any longer; I _needed_ to understand what the _hell_ was going with me back then.

It wasn't until I was mid-rant that I noticed how non-responsive she was to my mere presence. Furrowing my brows as I took a closer look, I noticed she was even paler than I'd last seen her. Her eyes seemed darker and her gaze a bit more distant than what I'd seen it become at times over the summer. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she were either in shock or had gone back to being mute— actually, I _don't _know any better.

What the heck is wrong with my sister?

**Hermione's P.O.V.**

"Accio pillow!"

I stared at the square-shaped cushion lying crookedly on the sofa beside a motionless Delilah, who lay sprawled upon it, parchments filled with solved, complex equations scattered messily around her sleeping figure. Blaze— her phoenix— sat on the desk beside my school material, looking utterly bored… if a bird can actually look it.

I stood tense by the table, hair all over the place as I just couldn't seem to understand why the spell wasn't working. Yes, we'd just learned it this morning in class, but I'd studied it over the summer. Of course, there was the downside that I _generally_ couldn't use magic outside the school, so I couldn't physically practice it, but I had it all down! What gives?!

I huffed as yet another strand of my frizzy hair fell over my eyes; Harry and Ron were sure lucky they weren't here, otherwise I would've exploded on them long ago from how irritable I had become. I momentarily glanced toward Delilah once more as I resisted the urge to wake her; she'd gotten it right on her first try… Then again she was a Wiccan practitioner; wielding that sort of complex magic facilitated all others. I'd wake her to ask what it is I'm doing wrong, though I'm quite certain I'm following everything quite thoroughly; besides, she needs the sleep.

"_You are proceeding incorrectly with the casting of the spell_."

I jumped slightly, startled at the sudden, seemingly disembodied voice.

"Who said that? Who's there?"

"_Your conscience_," the voice deadpanned. "_Who do you think?_"

I blinked, then glanced over at the only other being in the room that was as wide awake as I was. "… Blaze?" I tried tentatively, wondering whether I'd really just gone completely bonkers.

"_Yes, child_."

I jumped again, this time in shock, taken a step back. "You can talk?!"

"_I can squawk_," the phoenix retorted boredly.

My surprise instantly dissipated as my eyes narrowed into a glare directed at the oddly sassy, colorful phoenix. "Oi! What's with the sass?" I demanded. "And what do you mean I'm doing it wrong?! I've practiced it countless of—"

"_But you've never actually performed it physically, have you?_"

My mouth snapped shut at the truth in the creature's words.

"_There is no particular posture needed to better the casting of the spell, so just relax yourself._"

I deflated, my shoulders I tried hard to keep back to keep my head held high slouching instantly. I then frowned when I suddenly felt an unfamiliar weight on my head, blinking in surprise upon glancing upward to find the bird nestled ever so comfortably atop my frizzy hair.

"_Relax yourself, child,_" she repeated, her voice suddenly resounding undeniably soothing; in result, I felt my insides practically loosen from their knots as I subconsciously let myself relax as told. "_Close your eyes and clear your mind; you must be able to envision what you wish you summon. Try something a little more specific, as well, rather than just 'cushion,' child. Give yourself a bit of a challenge; you know _**_that_**_'s when you're at your best._"

Wide-eyed, I watched as Blazealbumera rose from my head and swiftly made her way back to the desk.

It—_ she_ was right; I am only ever best when I challenge myself. That was how I always managed to exceed what's expected here at Hogwarts. I loved hanging around Delilah, not only because she was _technically_ my first friend, but also because for someone as young as us, she was truly brilliant. Of course, she'd had her own reasons to push herself into furthering her knowledge, but ever since we'd become friends, she always set challenges for me.

Memory or no memory, she'd always been there to encourage me since we'd met— taking courses with me and going so far as confiding things that would exceed any knowledge of any other witch or wizard. Knowing how powerful she truly is— knowing _who _she is… I've just always dreamt of standing beside her as an equal rather than the mere Muggleborn witch the world would undoubtedly see me as. Whatever gods exist… I am truly thankful for how gracious they've been in gifting me with such a good friend. She's taught me to wear my identity, to wear like a brand. To not let it be what defines me, but to be what defines it.

She's done such by being the very definition of an alpha.

And Harry… he, too, surely knows how to be the very definition of a chosen hero. Wearing his fear on his sleeve and turning it into a sacred weapon… always, too, putting others before himself in spite of believing himself selfish.

I'm glad we're friends.

Ron… though he can be daft, he's not… _entirely_ the weirdo I once thought him to be when we'd first met. I don't know what his talents are other than spontaneity. He really has a habit of surprising me. Yes, we argue a lot, even reached many points in time where we despised each other nearly as much as we despise Malfoy. But at the end of the day, I can't help but recall how, in spite of all the bumps we've run over down the road… he's always been loyal.

I'm surprised he's not a Hufflepuff instead. Then again, he's shown on many occasions the courage of a true Gryffindor— when he'd saved me from that troll in our first year, alongside Harry and Delilah. Granted, it was his fault I was even stuck there in the first place…

But then he sacrificed himself for us on that awful, large chess game we'd had to play beneath the trap door. Granted, he did just walk onto that stupid board and blabbered about replacing the pieces rather than just walked around it and magically opened the damned door, as we could've done in the first place.

_Honestly_— and _he _called _me _out for instinctively looking for wood. I'm a Muggleborn, what'd he expect?

Borderline, Ron is much more daring and courageous than I usually give him credit for, and quite frankly… I'm glad he and I are friends too.

It's being close to these three that pushes me to be better. Delilah is the physical brawn, though she is intellectually very brilliant. Harry is the natural wizard, and Ron is quite surprisingly clever and quicker on his two feet than I could ever hope to be. They protect me all the time, and all I can seem to offer is my knowledge I try to expand as much as I can because I, too, wish to be brilliant.

I, too, wish to stand beside the chosen protector, the chosen hero, and the loyal knight. I want to be more than just a court herbalist— and… now I have no idea why I'm using Middle Age terminology.

I took a deep breath and relaxed my gradually tensing shoulders; I accept this challenge. I _must_ prove myself.

With my mind now clear and a vivid image forming beneath my eyelids, I felt the corner of my lips curl upward a tad bit before I chanted the charm I'd been practicing for the past hour, flicking my wand about in the respective wave for the spell.

My eyes snapped open and I found myself blinking owlishly when I suddenly heard a great lot of things crashing in the floor above.

It took me a long moment to realize I'd finally succeeded in casting the summoning charm when I'd suddenly felt a somewhat familiar weight hit me in the chest, tackling me to the ground.

It took me a moment longer to realize I hadn't actually said the incantation aloud.

And yet… it worked.

Merely a second later, I pushed myself on my elbows, glancing up curiously when I'd suddenly heard a gasp; Delilah had just awoken, seemingly startled out of her long-needed slumber, and I felt slightly a bit more concerned upon seeing how pale she'd gotten, her breathing so labored it came out in quick pants.

Putting her family book aside— it's a curious thing, and I'm a curious person, so don't judge my summoning— I stood cautiously and slowly approached, softly calling out to her as to not startle her further.

"Deli? Delilah?"

Suddenly, her brother all but burst in, and instantly got comfortable beside her, settling on the sofa beside her, rambling on about brutal heart palpitations and extensive heat overcoming his body or something. I truly was not paying attention to what he was saying as my worry grew at how eerily silent Delilah was being. By all and any god, I truly hoped she wouldn't revert.

Seeming to finally notice my presence in the Common Room, he asked me rather demandingly, "What in seven hells is the matter with her?"

Sometimes he really sounds like a little brat. And what on earth is—

"'Seven hells'?" I asked, puzzled.

Giving me a sheepish look, the boy shrugged. "I don't know, I heard this old guy say it the other day at a café back in London. He was muttering something about a mother of dragons and something about a _Khaleesay_ or something being the perfect word for… something. Can't remember, can't really find it in myself to care any further either— what's wrong with my sister? Why isn't she answering me? Why isn't she snapping? Why isn't she telling me to shut up? Why isn't she reacting? Why isn't she—"

"Shut up!" I hissed, slapping my hand against his mouth to keep him from saying anything else; my God, I'd never expected such an adorable boy to be so annoying.

"Sorry," he uttered, the word muffled by my hand.

Pulling away from Seth, I turned back to Delilah. Though her face was blank and empty of any emotion, I noticed there was a look I recognized all too well, glittering in her dulled, darkened eyes.

It was the look of fear.

I watched worriedly as she took hold of her family's book and held it tightly to her chest.

"Delilah…" I called out to her again, more softly.

She finally looked at me and stared for a moment before flicking her wrist, a small cloud appearing in the air, spelling out a few words.

_I am fine, do not worry about me_.

I sighed. But she wasn't really, now, was she? She'd gone back to her mute, and ridiculously formal-self in the blink of an eye, and there was no way for any of us to know how or why.

_Do not fault yourself over it,_ she spelled out again. _It's quite simple, really; I have trust issues. You should know that by now._

… this is bad.

The next few days passed without great incident. Seth's and my attempts to get Delilah to talk had remained with no progress whatsoever as she had completely reverted to how she'd been when Harry, Ron and I had met her years ago. She'd brought out her little white board and black marker, and it was thus she communicated with anyone who was not aware of her projectile telepathy.

What was slightly bothersome was how emotionless she'd become anew, and yet she had somehow also become overly affectionate toward those of us she was closest too. She would often grab one sitting closest to her, in most cases being either Seth, Ginny or myself, and she would either tatter with our hair, or embrace us absentmindedly. On top of that, she hasn't exactly been paying as much attention to her superhuman strength as she used to; the other day, she nearly hugged the breath out of Ginny.

Her muteness was not exactly something gone unnoticed by anyone, mostly due to the fact that her annoyed quicks, smart-mouthed comments, and irritable nicknames had not once been spoken. It was to the point where even Professor Snape had noticed the sudden lack of communication, though he covered his concern oddly well enough behind the new levels of vindictiveness he seemed to have attained over the summer.

Ronald, obviously, always had to point these little things.

"Why's Deli not talking anymore?" he'd whined. "There's no way I can concentrate in class now, without her quips and entertaining comments!" _Honestly_, Ronald… "And what the bloody hell is up with Snape? D'you know why he's in such foul mood?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Moody."

It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of their previous Dark Arts teachers and shown it but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever they'd be seen together— at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors— one could easily get a distinct impression that Snape was avoiding Professor Moody's eye, whether magical or normal.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," said Ron, his eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeon..."

All fourth years in our house were looking forward to Professor Moody's first lesson so much that, much like I usually do, they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime, and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. Unlike I usually do, though, I merely turned up just in time for the lesson and was greeted by the odd sight of Delilah clinging to Ron's arm; odd indeed, she usually clung to Harry the way her brother clung to her.

"Been in the—"

"Library." Harry finished my sentence. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."

We hurried into four chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out our copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon we heard Professor Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. His clawed, wooden foot was visible, protruding from underneath his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, stomping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need them."

We returned the books to our bags, Ron looking excited, much to my own irritation.

Professor Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures— you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind— very behind— on dealing with curses," said Professor Moody. "So, I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Professor Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment he smiled— the first time anyone, I believe, had seen the man do so. The effect only made his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. From the shudder Delilah emitted from where she sat beside me, I had a feeling she thought otherwise; Ron, on the other hand, blind as ever, looked deeply relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Professor Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago... Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore... One year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So— straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently, Professor Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head. That's rather fascinating… disgusting, but fascinating.

"So... do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including mine, and, to my surprise, Ron's. Professor Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

"Er," said Ron tentatively, "my dad told me about one… Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," the professor replied appreciatively. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Professor Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. I could feel Ron recoil slightly next to him, sat between Harry and myself— heard he hated spiders.

Professor Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, "Imperio!"

The spider leapt from Professor Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Professor Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance.

Everyone was laughing— everyone except Professor Moody and myself; I found it stupid, despite knowing the dangers of this curse. From the corner of my eye, I noticed even Delilah was rather stoic about this display of cruelty.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Professor Moody growled. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control," said Professor Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..."

I frowned when I suddenly felt Delilah begin to shake, nervously I could guess. I didn't know what to do to comfort her, so I merely held her hand under the desk as she would do with me when trying to comfort me.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," said Professor Moody; "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

On instinct, my free hand flew into the air again and so, to my surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology which was easily his best subject; even Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

"Yes?" said Professor Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

"There's one— the Cruciatus Curse," said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

Professor Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Professor Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Professor Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he said, pointing his wand at the spider. "Engorgio!"

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Professor Moody's desk as possible.

Suddenly, I felt my eyes widen upon seeing the man raise his wand anew; he couldn't possibly…

Pointing his wand at the spider, and he muttered, "Crucio!"

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but I was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Neville staring at the scene before us, terrified. He wasn't the only one; Delilah's twitching hand had stilled in my own, her face twisted in a look of terror that I could only recognize from that one vision she'd shown us of herself confronting those creatures that had killed her brother Brady.

"Stop it!" I said shrilly.

I could feel eyes settle upon it, but I paid no mind to them as mine solely focused on my best friend currently _scared_; it wasn't often Delilah showed fear, and so seeing her in this state worried me. I felt my eyes widened when I noticed Delilah's things and white-board and marker, all which sat neatly on the desk in front her, began to shake uncontrollably. Just how far did her fear run, at this moment?

Suddenly, everyone was silent, including Moody himself. I chanced a glance toward him and saw him with his wand raised, the spider's legs relaxed, but continuing to twitch.

"Reducio," he muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," said Moody softly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… That one was very popular once too. Right... anyone know any others?"

I chanced another look, this time, around me; from the looks on everyone's faces, I could only guess they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider.

My head snapped back Delilah's way when I noticed her putting her things back into her school bag, only stopping when Moody suddenly called out to her, her entire body freezing as still as a statue.

"Want to give it a go, Miss _Dawn_?"

There was something in the way he said her name that bothered me. Looking over at Ron and Harry, clearly, I was not the only one. The three of us turned our gaze back to our friend, whose hands now held her board tightly against her lap, knuckles whitening from sheer force of her strong grip on the item, all her other school supplies put away in her now buckled bag.

The incantation was written in bold, capital letters, but clearly spelled out with a shaking hand. I could understand her unease at the mentioning of the curse that killed, not only Harry's parents, but also her grandparents. I remember this one particular night, she had revealed to me remembering the night of her grandparents' death; ever since she'd recovered from her memory loss last year, she remembered everything, all the way back to the moment she was born.

"Yes, the last and worst," said Moody, snapping us all out of our thoughts. "... the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand and all but roared the incantation.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air. Instantaneously, the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

My hand flew to my mouth as I held back a gasp, whilst several of the others stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no counter-curse. There's no blocking it. Only two people have ever survived it, and they're sitting right in front of me."

Suddenly, I noticed a strange look in his eyes as he openly stared at Harry. I glanced over at my friend to see what that was about, only to find him staring at the blank blackboard instead, as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all...

I was puzzled as I turned my gaze back to Moody, only to find him staring at Delilah now; glancing around, everyone else looking around at her too, but she merely kept her gaze on her little white-board, still holding it with a tight grip as though letting go would throw her off a lifeboat.

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to me. With a massive effort, I forced my mind from my worries and pulled myself back to the present and listened to what he was saying.

"This curse is one that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it— you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

Now, if there's no counter-curse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Now... those three curses are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills... copy this down..."

With a shaking hand, I readied myself to take notes. My movements, however, came to a halt when Delilah suddenly shot from her seat and stormed out of the room. The only hint I got as to what was going on was the excessive heat radiating from her body as she hurried out of the classroom, leaving all her things behind, including her wand.

She really wasn't kidding about always forgetting her wand, huh?

Knowing I didn't really need to take notes on this particular class, having already studied this chapter during the summer break, I packed my things in a hurry with the intention of running out of this bloody and room and catching up to Delilah, only to be caught by surprise upon seeing Ron running off in my stead.

I really ought to give him more credit than I usually do.

**Harry's P.O.V.**

"Ron!" I hissed as I watched him rush after Delilah.

I know I should've reacted more quickly and rushed out myself, but she'd been so quiet lately, that I myself was too enthralled in my own comfort of her naturally soothing presence rather than seeing there was clearly something wrong. Even Hermione, who's always so deep in her own study to notice anything, had noticed Delilah's suddenly odd behavior and had her things packed and ready to follow our friend.

"Focus on your notes for now," she uttered, as she resumed her note-taking.

"But Deli—"

"I know there's something going on, but right now we just have to trust Ron will get to her in time before something bad happens and someone gets _killed_," she rushed frantically, her hand flying across her parchment, scribbling down her notes at an impressive speed. "Or worse—"

"Let me guess, 'expelled'?" I finished, sparing her a glance, chuckling softly in spite of myself upon catching the faint blush darkening her cheeks. "You know, sometimes I question your ideologies…"

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled, nudging me with her shoulder.

From then onward, we spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang, but when Moody had dismissed us and we all began to file out of the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices; they were talking about the lesson as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but I honestly hadn't found it very entertaining and nor, it seemed, had Hermione.

"Hurry up," she said tensely as we grabbed Deli and Ron's things, then hurried out the door.

"Not the library again?" I uttered, hoping to all the gods in existence she wasn't thinking about that when both our best friends hadn't returned from god knows where they had run off to.

"No," said Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. "Neville."

Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

"Neville?" Hermione said gently.

Neville looked around.

"Oh hello," he said, his voice much higher than usual. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I-I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" said Hermione.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. "Very interesting dinner— I mean lesson— what's for eating?"

Hermione gave me a startled look.

"Neville, what—"

But an odd clunking noise sounded behind us, and we turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All three of us fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than we had yet heard.

"It's all right, sonny," he said to Neville. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on... we can have a cup of tea..."

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon me.

"You all right there, Potter?"

I narrowed my eyes at the odd man, defiantly. "Yes," I uttered firmly.

Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed me. Then he said, "You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending... well... come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you."

Neville looked pleadingly at us, but, frankly, I couldn't think of anything to say, so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder.

"I wonder what that was about…" Hermione uttered as we watched Neville and Moody turn the corner.

"I don't know," I said; "and frankly, I don't think I really want to."

"Me neither," Hermione admitted after a moment, then shook her head. "Let's just forget about this. It was very agitating and mind-consuming, and, honestly, I'm not looking forward to the next lessons to come."

I gently nudged her arm and motioned down the hall. "Yeah, let's go find Deli and Ron. Don't think Ron'll survive the night without dinner."

**Ron P.O.V. (A.N. Bet y'all didn't expect any of this, huh? :P)**

Obviously, the thing I hate the most is spiders. Even watching one get tortured wouldn't change that. But at that moment, I'd never been more terrified. Fred and George were right— Professor Moody did know his stuff bloody well, but there was this look about him that just chilled my bones.

It was so sinister and almost sick, the way he almost seemed to find pleasure in torturing and killing the bloody thing.

But then I saw Neville— the way his knuckles whitened as his hands balled into fists; I almost thought they might explode, even though I knew that was just impossible. Harry's attention was undivided, but it was clear he was just as disturbed. Even Hermione— if possible, her bushy hair had frizzed up even more, nearly reflecting her shock at the sight unfolding before us.

It was Deli, though, who hauled my attention the furthest.

She'd almost broken that white-board of hers she'd had for years as she held it up with two words written across it in bold, upper-cased letters, clearly spelled out with a shaking hand. A shudder ran down my spine as I read them;

**_AVADA KEDAVRA_**

By this point, I didn't know, anymore, if her unease stemmed from the mentioning of the curse that killed, not only Harry's parents, but also her grandparents, or the intensity by which the class was unrolling over the hour.

"Yes, the last and worst," said Moody, snapping us all out of our thoughts. "Avada Kedavra... the Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade his fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Like Harry and Hermione, my eyes remained solely on our mute friend, my gaze only snapping to the front the second I heard the frightening roar of Mad-Eye Moody as he chanted the third forbidden curse.

It's scary how promptly it all happened— the flash of blinding green light and the odd rushing sound following suit, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air. Instantaneously, the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

Instinctively, I threw myself backward and almost toppled off my seat as the spider skidded toward me. Wide-eyed, I glanced at the half-crippled mad man as he swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no counter-curse. There's no blocking it. Only two people have ever survived it, and they're sitting right in front of me."

I faintly noticed a strange look in his eyes as he openly stared at Harry, though I was still too bloody terrified, trying to calm my nerves to make much of it. Gulping in a deep breath, I glanced over at Harry and found him staring at the blank blackboard instead, as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all...

Puzzled, I turned my gaze back to Moody, only to find him staring at Delilah now; glancing around, everyone else looking around at her too, but she merely kept her gaze on her little white-board, holding it with a tight grip as though letting go would throw her off a lifeboat.

Moody was speaking again, but I all but ignored him— bloody mental cripple... purposely scaring us— could've had a bloody heart attack!

With all the effort I could muster, I attempted to force my mind from my worries and push my attention back toward Moody, but the instant Delilah shot from her seat and stormed out of the room, I stumbled out of mine and dashed after her, faintly hearing Hermione call out my name, but opting to ignore it.

Delilah's my best friend too— it's not fair of me not to be there for her when she's there for me and the others whenever need be. And the Quidditch Cup was the first time I got to return the favor, but it certainly was _not_ going to be the last.

With a heavy step, I raced down the long corridors, as stealthily as possible, hoping and wishing to all the bloody gods that may exist that I would not bump into any authorities figure as this time around— the number of times we've gotten in trouble… I should've borrowed Harry's map.

Upon turning the various corners, I crashed into something hard and fell to the ground.

"Ron?"

With a groan of pain from the sudden crash and fall, I glanced up at the familiar voice and blinked in surprise.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with Harry and Hermione."

With a grunt, I pushed myself to my feet. "Your sister ran out of class— was chasing after her," I panted. "Now, I've lost sight of her. Thanks a whole bloody lot, Seth."

The boy gave me a flat look. "I'm pretty sure you lost sight of her the moment you left your classroom, so don't go about blaming me, you twat."

I growled but didn't deny it. "You people are bloody fast, I tell you. D'you think she would've used that Apparition thing she can do with her Wiccan magic?"

Seth shook his head. "No, she wouldn't do that so publicly. No one knows 'bout that side of us, 'cept for you lot, Dumbledore, another select few from the staff and the sorting hat."

I snorted. "The sorting hat? You're joking, right?"

"The sorting hat knows all— it's practically clairvoyant," said someone behind me.

I groaned upon recognizing this voice; bloody hell, I have a nosy sister. "What do _you_ want, Ginny? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Doing what, standing about like the bloody idiot you are with no clue as to where to go next?" she snapped, her hands tightening around the straps of her bag.

I noticed that, much like a few other close friends of ours, Ginny had taken to carrying a bag around with her supplies of the day like Delilah had been doing most of the time since our first year.

"You guys say 'bloody' a lot, it's a miracle your family hasn't started the whole swearing jar thing," Seth uttered.

"Hello, Seth," Ginny greeted him, a small smile etching along her lips, her face reddening near the color of our hair.

I glanced back at Deli's little brother when he didn't respond and rolled my eyes when I found him staring at my sister with a dumbfounded look on his face, his eyes glazed over as though in a trance.

"Oi!" I snapped. "Stop ogling my sister."

"Ron!" Ginny grumbled.

"I can find her," Seth uttered, still clearly distracted by my sister; Merlin, she's a glutton for punishment.

"What, you gonna sniff her out?" I uttered sarcastically. At this, Seth turned his gaze back to me and gave me a deadpanned look. "You're joking!"

"'You people'," he echoed my earlier words with a scoff. "And yet, you seem to forget what that implies. Yes, Ronald, I'm going to 'sniff her out' as you so delicately put it. Now, unless you wanna give Snape another excuse to deduct points from Gryffindor for merely existing, I suggest you—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Ginny grumbled, cutting Seth off. "She was headed for the entrance. She's probably already in the Forbidden Forest."

Before either Seth or I could add anything else, Ginny glanced around the corner before running off to the entrance, leaving the two of us behind, standing in utter silence.

"... try anything with my sister and I'll—"

"You do realize I could totally crush you, despite the fact that I haven't even phased yet, right?"

"... I bloody hate you…"

"No, you don't."

"Boys!"

"_Coming!_"

For a second home, Hogwarts was seriously starting to buzz me off the wrong way; every year we'd spent here, we either found ourselves in trouble out here in the forest— the centaurs, those bloody spiders, and the big wolf fight; Deli's one humongous wolf…

Heck, it wasn't even always in the woods; we'd fallen underneath a trapdoor guarded by a ginormous, three-headed dog, down the sewers of the girl's bathroom where a bloody basilisk was waiting, and we'd even been attacked and locked in by dementors and a mad animagus… Granted, Sirius _did _end up being a good guy and the father of one of my best friends and the godfather of another— wish he was my godfather too, maybe then I'd get a Firebolt…— but this place is bloody cursed and why the heck am I still here?!

"Deli?!"

Oh, right. Wait… _when did I get here?_

I grimaced the familiar dark aura that surrounded the forest that was forbidden to us for obvious reasons. Seth led our group, scouting ahead, his attention solely on what we sought to find. My sister, walking not far behind him, before me, glanced around, my nervousness and anxiety mirrored across her face as she kept glancing behind, past me; probably looking to see if we were followed.

At this point, I've learned not to give too much crap about it; being who I am and who my best friends are, we're bound to get in trouble for one reason or even no reason at all, especially with Snape sticking his bloody, crooked nose where it doesn't belong…

Suddenly, I bumped into Ginny, who had bumped into Seth, both of whom had stopped walking. Following their gaze, I noticed an enormous, familiar black mass standing a few ways away from her. Brows furrowed, I took a hesitant step around my sister and a few more till I stood in front of both third years.

As I gradually advanced toward my best friend, I faintly noticed how the ears atop her head, which had been previously flattened unto her fur, unpinned themselves from it and turned in my direction; she knew we were here.

"Deli?"'

I stopped when she took a few steps back, her gaze unwavering from whatever s/he sought in the dark of the woods that we could not see, coming to a halt and leaning into a slight crouch before me.

_CRACK!_

A loud crackling sound echoed through the woods, followed by a near-blinding flash of lightning and a gusting wind that nearly threw us back off our feet. For a moment, the light remained, glimmering brightly in the dark, forcing us to look away. When it was safe to look back, for a moment, all I could see was a pair of glowing eyes before they fluttered shut and, before us four, a _very _naked woman collapsed in a heap on the ground.

For a moment, no one moved.

For a moment, I felt my face boiling red upon seeing a nude lady before my eyes were suddenly covered.

"Ginny?!" I squeaked, startled. "Why the blo—"

"You know why, you numb-nut!" she hissed, her voice followed by a growl of seemingful agreement, emanating from the enormous wolf in company.

_Get back to the castle._

Ginny and I yelped, she seemingly as startled as I was upon suddenly hearing Delilah's voice whispering in our mind, her hand leaving my eyes which I instinctively opened anew, blinking owlishly in surprise when I saw Deli had etched toward the unconscious woman and had settled beside her, her enormous, furred body hiding the nameless, nude person from sight.

"We're not leaving you here!" Ginny huffed, sounding almost offended at being sent off.

"Yeah," I agreed with a nod. "What if she's some creepy vampire that'd been lurking about the woods, just waiting for _you_ to come to eat you?"

It was silent for a moment, and I suddenly felt self-cautious when three pairs of eyes landed on me and looked me over utterly unimpressed.

"What?" I uttered defensively. "That woman's got gold eyes! Didn't you once say vampires have gold eyes?"

Ginny scoffed. "Vampires don't have golden eyes…" She hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward Deli. "Do they?"

"They do," I grunted.

"I doubt she's a Cold One," Seth denied.

"A cold wha— what the bloody hell are you two yappin' about?" Ginny demanded.

"Vampires with golden eyes," Seth and I replied in unison before returning to the conversation at hand.

"She's not one, though," Seth denied once more.

"She's got the eyes!"

"That doesn't mean anything!"

_JUST GO AND GET ME SNAPE AND GRANDPA D!_

Jumping fright at the thundering voice echoing in my head, I scrambled back, Seth following my stead. Scurrying out of the dark woods, Seth and I hurried out of the Forbidden Forest and back into the castle, when suddenly, something occurred to me.

"... who the _bloody _hell is Grandpa D?"


	11. Author's Note

Hey peeps!

So as I've mentioned before, I started fixing my stories and doing a few rewrites here and there, the Mute by Choice series amongst others. I'm doing a few finishing touches to the first tome, but I need your guys' opinion before I post the rewrite or continue with what we've already got.

I've made a quiz you'll find by clicking at the end of this Note. I ask you please to do it to help me out a little-

The first 25 people to have at _least_ 75 or 80% can DM me a screenshot of your result or send it by email to _ana4apps _ before _**Sunday, March 1**_\- Tuesday at the latest, please, so I can hopefully proceed with this by Wednesday- and you will get to _pre_-read my re-write of the first tome of this series before anyone else.

Thank you for keeping up with me for so long and so far, I promise I will do my best to keep you happy and entertained with my writings.

Love y'all!

Avy JC

/quiz/6796655/Mute-by-Choice-Quiz-What-do-you-know (Add this part after quotev .com)

P.S. I will not be changing what I've got so far for _this_ book though; I quite like how I've progressed through it...

Also, make sure to include #mutebychoice so I know what it is :)


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